


Pride

by themantlingdark



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 19:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16898337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themantlingdark/pseuds/themantlingdark
Summary: I can't disable commenting. If I could, I would. Please pretend that I have. Please don't repost or distribute my writing.





	Pride

1 Before

 

In tenth grade Thor walked in on Loki masturbating to a still from Casino Royale. No Bond-girl in sight. Just Daniel Craig in a wet bathing suit.

Loki went red with anger and tears.

“Why the fuck didn't you knock? Why do you always act like the whole fucking house belongs to you?” Loki gasped, fumbling himself back into his boxer-briefs and leaning forward to shield his hips with the hem of his t-shirt while Thor murmured apologies and reassurances.

“Why do you have to fuck everything up?” Loki snarled, and charged at Thor, intending to shove him out the door.

But Thor saw that coming. He braced himself, crouched, caught his brother by the waist, and heaved him up and over his right shoulder, kicking the door shut behind him and dumping his frantically thrashing sibling onto the bed.

“What did I fuck up?” Thor said, keeping his distance while Loki calmed. “Besides your orgasm.”

“Oh my god,” Loki screamed. “What is wrong with you? Why the fuck are you still here?”

Thor sat on the bed and grabbed Loki's left ankle, thumb brushing over the knobby bones.

“Thor, what the actual fuck?”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Thor said, and Loki sat panting for almost a minute.

“It's none of your business.”

“I'm your fucking brother,” Thor answered, exasperation creeping into his voice and pushing it up an octave. “Your twin, you little shit.”

“We're not identical.”

Thor clenched his jaw.

We're not identical.

We're not the same person.

I'm not yours, you selfish fuck.

You're not my anything.

We don't own each other.

Get out.

Get away.

I don't belong to you.

I don't owe you anything.

I don't have to tell you everything. And a hundred other wounds that still hadn't healed.

Thor collected them, because even if they were awful and ugly and aching, they were still from his brother, and therefore of greater worth than anyone else's words. When Loki was angry he always lashed out hard at Thor, tearing at their bond as though brotherhood burned him. Thor could never get used to it, even though he expected it.

Loki was lying on his back with his hands over his eyes.

Thor curled up at his feet and waited.

“I already told you I'm gay,” Thor said. “What's the big deal?”

Loki shook his head.

“I'm not you.”

“I never said you were,” Thor sighed, and went back to his room.

At the end of twelfth grade, Thor wanted to go to the pride parade. He had hoped to see it firsthand for years and he was finally eighteen.

Odin said no.

Loki talked Thor into going anyway.

“You're an adult. You can do whatever you want,” Loki told him. “Who's it going to hurt?”

“You're coming with me, right?” Thor asked.

“Of course,” Loki said. “I have to protect all those poor unsuspecting homosexuals from your... charms.”

Thor snorted and elbowed Loki and off they went.

They loved every second of it.

Thor's picture ended up in the local newspaper, on the front page. He was wearing a shit-eating grin and a tool-belt, wrapped in the arms of strangers, and riding on a rainbow float.

When Odin opened the paper, he shouted and called Thor into his office. He admitted that, yes, Thor was legally an adult, but he lived under Odin's roof, and would therefore obey Odin's rules.

“We went to a parade for the Fourth of July,” Thor argued.

“That was different,” Odin answered.

“Yeah, it was for old straight conservative white guys,” Thor said, “The rest of us have to make our own parades.”

Loki waited in his room, drawing his left hand in his sketchbook while Odin punished his brother. There was no evidence that Loki had gone to the parade. He didn't generally go out for much of anything. Everyone always wanted to talk at him, rather that with him, so he couldn't be fucked to go. He had more rewarding conversations with the cat.

He finally heard footsteps pounding up the stairs, then a door slamming punctuated by a crash.

Loki stuffed his arts supplies back under his bed and tiptoed out into the hall, grateful for the silence of the thick carpet. He pressed his ear to Thor's door.

Crying, swearing, and quick breaths.

Loki opened the door carefully, ducking preemptively in case Thor had something in his hand to throw. Thor looked up and gave his brother a weak smile. His face was blotchy from tears, but his left cheek had the solid red imprint of a hand on it and the cheekbone looked puffy and pale.

“Hey,” Thor said. “Sorry for the noise. Shit - did I fuck you up while you were drawing?”

“No,” Loki said, stepping around the remains of smashed weightlifting trophies to sit beside his brother on the bed. “Is your face okay?”

Thor shrugged.

“Want me to get you some ice so it doesn't swell?”

“No, it doesn't matter. No one's gonna see it anyway. He took my car keys and canceled our graduation party.”

“Fuck.”

“I know, right?” Thor laughed, wetly. “Tomorrow I have to call everyone and tell them it's off.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah... How's life in the closet?”

“Peachy,” Loki breathed.

Loki hadn't wanted a graduation party. He didn't think finishing high school was an accomplishment, and it seemed tacky to throw a party where you'd be expecting your guests to give you money. And there was no one he wanted to see. But Thor was friends with everyone, and he was looking forward to goofing off with all of them together for one last day.

Loki wondered if Odin somehow knew he went to the pride parade too, and was secretly punishing him for it by taking the party away from both of them, or if Odin didn't know about Loki's crime and merely had no qualms about collateral damage.

In college Loki studied chemistry and secretly minored in art. Thor studied physics.

It didn't matter. They both knew what they'd be doing for money.

This is horse country. Loki had been training horses since he was fifteen. Thor had been shoeing them just as long. On weekends they hung out with their uncle Freyr and he taught them how to do both. Frigga got her degree in astrophysics, but ended up breeding horses. It was the family business. Odin was the odd man out, working as a judge.

Thor met Steve at freshman orientation. Steve was a sophomore and had volunteered to show new students around. After the tour, he and Thor spent the rest of the afternoon spotting each other in the dorm's tiny gym and playing frisbee.

They were an item by the end of the week.

“I dare you to find a flaw,” Thor teased, leaning in and whispering to Loki the first time he brought Steve home.

“Well?” Thor asked, at the end of the night while Steve was in the bathroom.

“He's too perfect,” Loki said softly, with a thin smile.

Loki started doing yoga with his mom that summer. It helped him sleep. A little.

Frigga was crazy about Steve, and she was glad Thor was finally dating.

Both Steve and Thor were outgoing, positive, popular, and active.

Loki couldn't understand why Thor would want what he already had – what he already was. He tried to tell himself it was narcissism, because he was terrified to call it love.

The summer after Thor's junior year, Steve took a job in R&D with Stark Industries and moved to New York.

On a bright and perfect Saturday afternoon at the end of July, Loki was at his desk in his room. He heard Thor's voice as though it was right in front of him, coming out of the watercolor he was working on. He was painting a rose his mother had let him cut from one of her bushes. It was a delicious shade of orange, like sherbet, and Loki was torn between emphasizing the color or focusing on the lovely arabesques of the petals. He had decided to do the color first while the light was good and then work on line drawings later, and was just about to put brush to paper when Thor stepped out onto the patio beneath Loki's bedroom.

“Hey, babe,” Thor said, and if Loki hadn't been so surprised and disoriented he would have answered.

“How was work?” Thor asked.

On the phone, then, Loki realized. Not talking to me like I'm Juliet. Of course not. That would be absurd.

Loki started painting.

“You busy?” Thor continued, and his voice sounded weird. “No, baby, it's not okay. I'm so sorry, Steve. I can't-  It's just-” and Thor choked and couldn't speak for a moment.

Loki had gone still at his desk and was gaping, horrified. And confused. He had always thought he'd dance a jig if this ever happened.

It was quiet for a minute and then he heard Thor sob again and groan and clear his throat.

“I'm just glad we're on the same page … We tried, right? … I know, sweetie, me too. We just … I need the country like you need the city, and the distance …  I know. Of course. No, I haven't told Mom yet … I know … No, she won't be mad, honey, she'll just be bummed. Like us.”

Thor was crying again. Loki heard sniffling and sobbed laughter.

“Of course we will … I promise. I know - I love you too … I will … I know … You too. Bye hon.”

Loki still hadn't moved. The paper taped to his drawing board was bowing with his tears. The screen door downstairs slid shut and snapped him from his stupor. He stood up and went to the hall. He could hear Thor's sobbing getting louder as he came up the stairs and then rounded the corner.

“Thor?” Loki whispered.

“Oh, fuck- I was- right under your window, wasn't I?” Thor choked, but Loki just spread his arms and Thor nearly ran to them.

Odin got back from golf an hour later and came upstairs to change. He could hear Thor and Loki crying. When he passed Loki's room he saw the twins spooned together in Loki's bed.

Loki was propped slightly up on his left elbow so that he could lean over and press his forehead to Thor's temple. His right hand was rubbing Thor's upper arm.

They were still like that when Odin went back downstairs.

It was hardly the weirdest thing he had seen his sons do.

When they were six they reinvented the high five as the “tongue touch,” which was exactly what it sounded like: a tiny fist-bump with the tips of their tongues.

At eight they sat in the grass with the soles of their feet aligned. They each bent to their own right foot and prodded and pulled until they'd succeeded in dovetailing all their toes together; Loki's right entwined with Thor's left, and Thor's right with Loki's left. Then they wove their fingers together and sat there for the better part of the afternoon, bent like a pretzel, whistling at cardinals.

At age ten Thor could fit his fist in his mouth. Loki couldn't fit his fist in his own mouth, so he put it in Thor's mouth, too.

Loki came downstairs at dinner, eyes swollen with tears and face blotchy. His mother looked at him and he shook his head tightly from side to side as he watched her eyes well over.

He piled a plate with food, jammed two forks and one knife into it, got a glass of ice water, and went back upstairs.

He spent the weekend shielding Thor from the rest of the world and weeping at his side. Not even Frigga saw Thor until Monday morning.

After college, the twins moved back home to save money.

Loki spent a lazy weekend reading Frigga's copy of Robin Maugham's The Link: A Victorian Mystery. Halfway through, he'd found a page marked with a polaroid, with that wonderful hazy compression of space they always yield. The shot was of his mother and a friend, both pregnant, clinking glasses of ice water together. Very pregnant, in the friend's case. Both of the women looked delighted. Loki didn't recognize the house they were in.

He picked up the picture and took it to his mother to ask her who her friend was, where they were, and what possessed them to do that to their hair.

“Who's this?” Loki said, smiling.

He held the photo out to her and saw his mother's graceful cursive on the back: Far and Frigg, December 1, 1990.

Three weeks before his and Thor's birthday.

But Frigga wasn't full enough for twins in the photo.

Loki's brow crumpled and when he looked up, his mother was pale and there were tears welling up in her pretty eyes, and he knew the resemblance he bore to the other woman in the photograph was no coincidence.

 

2 After

 

“Why didn't you tell me?” Loki whispers.

“Oh, honey,” Frigga breathes. “I'm so sorry. I promised your dad I wouldn't. He thought it shouldn't make any difference. And it doesn't. But that doesn't mean I agree with him. You're ours – Loki!”

But Loki is already striding off to Odin's study.

“Why did you make her keep this secret? Were you ever going to tell me?”

“There's nothing to tell,” Odin answers. “You're our son.”

Thor comes home at the end of the fight. He has a bag of Chinese takeout in each hand.

They're all supposed to be having dinner.

Instead, he finds Loki storming out of the house with his arms full of suitcases.

Thor can see that Loki's car is already loaded with his things. Their mother is standing on the front porch in tears.

“What's going on?” Thor asks.

“Did you know, too?” Loki snarls, throwing his trunks in the backseat before turning to face Thor.

“Know what?” Thor asks, bewildered.

“Tell me!” Loki screams and backhands Thor.

Thor goes down, hard, sending cartons of rice bouncing and rolling across the ground. When Thor staggers back up, Loki sees which part of the lawn Thor landed on.

They have an old watering system with heavy cast iron sprinklers that screw into hinge-capped spigots. Odin had taken the sprinklers out the day before to mow the lawn around the house. If he hadn't, and the sprinklers had still been in, Thor would have landed on one. It most likely would have punctured his skull or broken his neck.

Loki claps a hand over his mouth in horror and rushes into his car.

Thor doesn't want to let Loki go, but he isn't about to leave his mother to cry alone, so he goes to her, though his nose is gushing blood.

He hears Loki peeling out of the driveway behind him.

When he goes inside with his mom to get cleaned up he finds his father napping on the couch.

Thor stays at Sif's for a few days, so furious with his father he fears it will come to blows if they're within a mile of each other.

Sif asks Thor what happened, and Thor tells her what his mother told him the night Loki left.

That Frigga met Farbauti when she was vacationing in St. Ignace as a girl and they were best friends from the very first. That Farbauti wasn't close to her own family; Frigga was the one named in her will and named as Loki's guardian. That they were due – and went into labor - the same day, and gave birth just hours apart. That Farbauti died in childbirth. That, beyond her doctor, only Odin, Freyr, and Farbauti knew Frigga was pregnant. She had been pregnant once before and miscarried, and answering questions about the baby after she had lost it was so agonizing she kept her second pregnancy quiet and spent most of it resting, terrified she'd lose this baby too and not wanting to talk about it if she did.

“What the hell is wrong with your dad?” Sif sighs.

“Fuck if I know,” Thor says, and they split a six-pack and watch Dredd.

“Shame they cast Karl Urban in a role where you can't see his face,” Thor sighs.

“It passes the Bechdel test,” Sif says.

“Oh my God,” Thor gasps. “It fucking does.”

Thor stretches out to sleep on her couch and gives Sif a tight smile.

The muscles in his forehead haven't relaxed once since he showed up at her door in tears at two am three nights ago.

He had comforted his mother as much as he was able, but as soon as she went to bed he ran to beg solace from Sif.

“What is it?” Sif asks.

“I don't even know if he's alive.”

Loki doesn't answer his phone, but he starts talking to his mother again quite quickly. She figured out where he was going to go before he knew it himself, and she showed up the following evening with groceries and linens and the odds and ends he forgot from his room.

“Promise you won't tell him where I am,” Loki says.

“Now you're going to ask me to keep secrets from one of my sons?” Frigga asks, arching an eyebrow.

Loki swears and covers his face with his hands.

“Please,” he whispers. “You can tell him everything but where I am. But, even then, only if he asks. I need more time.”

She lets out a shaky breath, but nods.

Loki keeps his date with the Kentucky Theatre in Lexington the following weekend to see 2001: A Space Odyssey when they play it. He gets one of the last tickets and has to sardine himself between strangers, but it's worth it to finally see the thing properly. Keir Dullea's performance changes at this scale. It occurs to Loki that the actor spent half his screen time staring at the camera and the fourth wall never budged. His restraint is remarkable. Perfect. One of the great performances, and all anyone ever talks about is Hal and Kubrick and the visuals.

In the lobby on his way out, he spies Thor, tired and bruised and still every bit as beautiful, talking with a gorgeous little brunette.

Loki has never seen her before.

He nearly runs to his car.

Thor sees the back of his brother's head, but there's a crowd in front of the door and he can't get there fast enough.

When Thor finally makes it to the parking lot, it's just in time to hear the squealing of his brother's tires again.

He had feared Loki was on the other side of the country at best or the bottom of a lake at worst, but now he knows exactly where Loki is living; it's where Thor would have gone.

He drops Jane off and calls his mom to tell her Loki is still in town.

“I know, sweetheart,” she says.

“What?” Thor breathes.

“I'm sorry, sweetie. He asked for privacy.”

Frigga tells Thor to leave his brother alone. That Loki will come around when he's ready. That Loki has enough on his plate. And that poking a hornet's nest never did anyone any good.

And Thor hates it, but he takes her advice.

At three am Thor's phone beeps with a text, and Thor hears it because he can't sleep. He's been lying awake in bed for two hours, wishing he'd just plowed through the other moviegoers and caught his brother by the hair.

Loki: Who the fuck was that woman? Got yourself a sister now? Or something else? Should I get one of my own? You didn't waste any time.

Thor: That was Jane. I've told you about her 100 times. & I don't have a sister, I have a brother.

Loki: I'm not your brother. I never was.

Thor: We grew up together, we have the same parents, we have the same history. We're brothers. Why are you doing this?

Loki: Do you think you'd be singing the same song if they'd said you were the cowbird?

Thor: Would you? Would you tell me I'm not your brother if our places were reversed?

Thor waits up until dawn, but his phone doesn't beep again. He checks it constantly nonetheless, in case he somehow missed the sound.

He reads the old messages over and over and their content slowly sinks through his skin.

Loki's the one who said Thor wasn't his brother - who won't let Thor have a brother. Won't come near him. But he doesn't want Thor to have anyone else, either.

Selfishness, Thor thinks at first. Spite. He wants all the power. Wants all of me for himself, just so he can be the one to throw me away.

Rage. And Thor thinks that's fair. Loki has been lied to all his life. Thor is angry too. What Odin did – and asked their mother to do – was awful.

And Loki doesn't want to hurt Frigga – Thor knows that – she's been hurt enough.

Odin would have to believe he was in the wrong in order to feel guilt or pain over this, so Loki can't really hurt his father.

That leaves Thor in the role of whipping boy.

But there's something else under the surface of all of these words, warping them with its own shape.

Jealousy.

Of Jane.

Which makes no sense.

Loki knows Thor is gay. He was the first person Thor told.

It's twenty minutes of lying in the dark before Thor remembers that emotions aren't rational.

It's three more re-readings of the texts before Loki's first sentence finally comes to the foreground as the most important. Thor kicks himself a little. It was first – to anyone else that would have made it stick out, but Loki has never been so straightforward before.

That's because it was unintentional, Thor realizes.

Loki is usually calculated, calm, and collected. He texted me at three in the morning, jealous that I had company.

Assuming I had more than just company.

Assuming I'd replaced him... with a girlfriend.

Loki sees that as his equivalent.

Oh.

The tumult of joy and sadness in Loki's eyes when Thor would hug or kiss him makes sense at last. The way he stood so close. Played with Thor's hair. Read or napped in Thor's bed when Thor was writing essays at his desk. Drew portrait after portrait of him. Left him little gifts – dvds, albums, and postcards to pin to his wall. Always knew his favorites – Reese's peanut butter cups, peanut m&ms, and bbq potato chips. Got so frustrated with him. So impatient with him. How he always had a handy list of reasons why this boy or that boy wasn't worth Thor's time. Kept after Thor to stay in and study - or invite his friends over to the house instead of going out - trying desperately to keep Thor's love available and spare his own tired heart any more grief than was necessary.

And, Jesus, Thor thinks. That's a hell of a secret to have to keep.

So much love poured out. None returned. At least, not the same sort.

Loki has likely been running on empty for a decade.

Thor is amazed his brother is still standing.

He's proud of Loki's strength. Stamina. Stubbornness.

Thor has seen Loki hold his ground against spooked and rebellious horses without flinching. Watched him belittle bigots twice his size if they used a slur in his earshot. But this romantic bravery puts everything else to shame, at least to Thor's mind.

To love secretly and silently and seemingly without hope. With no regard for the course the rest of the world follows.

It's a felony, Thor remembers.

His stomach shivers inside him.

He's not sure what to think. Where to stand.

Loki is the smartest, funniest, and loveliest man Thor knows.

He's also the most secretive, opaque, and short-tempered.

Still, Thor is strangely flattered. He feels unworthy. He couldn't possibly warrant such reckless devotion. Sometimes he struggles to believe he should even have it from his mother.

Thor feels awful that he can't comfort Loki. Repay his emotional debt.

After his breakup with Steve, Thor was a wreck for weeks. At night he'd tap and scrape the wall between his room and his brother's, for their beds were both against it.

. . . 

_ _ _  

. . . 

and Loki would reply

_ _ _   

_ . _

and then steal into Thor's room with all the silence of a shadow, to curl up behind him on top of the sheet. Loki was always too warm, especially in summer. “You're a furnace,” Loki would whisper, just breath, teeth, and tongue – no vocal chords involved. And Thor would roll over and hug Loki tight and cry onto the bare skin of his brother's neck. Loki would rub Thor's back and shush him and listen to all his fears, garbled by sobs and stuttering breaths:

That Thor hadn't loved Steve enough.

That he'd failed Steve and betrayed him.

That he should have been willing to move to New York with him.

That Steve deserved that from him.

That Thor was unworthy of love.

That Thor was selfish for staying behind - or lazy.

That he'd always thought love was something for which he'd be willing to give anything.

That he had failed love itself.

That he couldn't explain or understand why home was worth a broken heart.

That maybe that meant what he felt wasn't love and he was somehow lying to Steve all those years.

That Steve was, therefore, better off without him.

That maybe Steve should be glad to be rid of him - or maybe he already was.

Thor tries to imagine what Loki's fears are at this moment.

He worries that every memory his brother has has now been cast in shadow.

That even – or especially – his fondest recollections have been tainted.

That Loki's belief in his family's love has come under doubt. Been irreparably damaged.

Thor wants to feel worthy of Loki's brotherhood.

He's taken it for granted all these years, and he's not sure how to go about earning it. He's scared that it's not a thing that's possible to earn.

Loki made Thor feel worthy of love once already.

On some of those nights a year ago Loki would tap

_ . _ .   

_ _ _   

_ _   

.     

. . . .   

.   

. _ .   

.

And Thor would sneak into Loki's room and sit on the edge of the bed until Loki would toss his head and pat the pillow beside him. And Thor would lie down and exorcise all the horrors that had crept through his thoughts that day – whispering them into his brother's ear. And Loki would soothe them away with murmured logic and soft squeezes to Thor's arm.

Thor had finally been allowed in Loki's room again.

That hadn't been the case since the Daniel Craig incident.

Thor was still careful to knock when he hadn't yet been invited, but Loki always let him in, and he didn't glare at Thor or shoo him out anymore, like he had for the last seven years. Thor could stay and watch Loki draw in the evenings. Read while Loki painted his portrait.

Things had finally calmed between them. When they went back to school for their senior year of college, it was Loki Thor missed most, not Steve.

And now Thor feels like he's lost a leg. There's a pain he can't soothe. A phantom limb, itching and aching all hours of the day, bleeding unseen and unstaunched.

 

3 Far

Loki plays scenarios – suicide and screaming, smashing and shaking – over and over in his mind. He doesn't actually want to die, he just wants to hurt Odin. Take something from him. But he knows that's impossible.

He graduates to fantasies of nearly-quiet interaction in neutral spaces.

But the words are still shifting and circular.

And the conversations are all with Thor.

He doesn't need to talk to Odin. And that's an unnerving thing to realize after twenty-two years.

He's already talking to Frigga... still talking to her - he never really stopped.

But he needs to figure out who he is, what he is, what he wants, and why, before he can talk to Thor.

Right now his life feels like a wish granted by the monkey's paw. His wordless prayer on desperate nights - that they hadn't been born brothers and he could be sneaking out his bedroom window in the middle of the night to make love to Thor in a meadow – has been answered. With a lie. And now he knows how much he has to lose.

Not biologically related.

Not brothers in blood.

It frightens Loki: if Thor ever needs an organ donor, he is no more likely than a stranger to be able to provide it. That breaks his heart.

Frigga is his mother. Period. His mind balks from even beginning to question it. She would have raised him regardless.

About Odin, however, he is far from certain. It's the closest he'll ever come to having a father, but it casts every act of indifference in a new and frightening light.

Yet Odin insisted Loki was his son. That was the cause of the lie.

But Odin didn't bring him into this world, and Loki can't help but feel as though his life has been some sort of social experiment.

There isn't a being alive to whom Loki could ever be more closely related than Thor. Over two decades of life lived side by side. No one knows him better. Loki knows there's no undoing it, but he doesn't want to lose it to language, either.

Loki braces himself as he opens the dictionary.

Brother   noun

1: a male who has the same parents as another, or one parent in common with another

Frigga.

2: one related to another by common ties or interests

I can think of a million things.

3: a fellow member —used as a title for ministers in some evangelical denominations

Irrelevant.

4: one of a type similar to another

We're a pair.

He holds his breath and flips to the Ls

Lover   noun

1

 a: a person in love; especially a man in love with a woman

 b: plural two persons in love with each other

2 **:** an affectionate or benevolent friend

3: devotee

4

 a: paramour

 b: a person with whom one has sexual relationships

No exclusions, Loki marvels, and smiles like he's just dodged a bullet.

Loki draws and paints and lets the dust of his new reality settle. He blogs. It's someone to talk to, in a way. A diary. A means of keeping track of himself. Evidence of his existence out there for all the world to see, though his life is a tiny secret thing, hidden in barns and fields and his bedroom.

Thor hadn't exactly been looking, he's just always been lucky.

He's on his own blog, wandering around looking for much-needed laughs, when he sees a familiar image on Tumblr Radar.

A painting.

Not one he's ever seen before, but the colors, the marks, and the composition are like handwriting, and Thor knows his brother's habits.

Loki's blog.

He tracks it, but doesn't follow or like anything, not wanting to give himself away.

Sometimes Thor will send letters to Loki via Frigga.

The first one is very short. Cautious.

Hi Loki,

Call me if you'd like to get dinner or something.

-Thor

The original draft of the letter had been two pages long, but then Thor had feared it would start a fight or frighten his brother farther away, so he scrapped it and sent the tiny message.

The second is similarly brief.

Hey Loki,

Beast says “hi.”

Let me know if you need anything.

Miss you,

Thor

The next dozen are funny handmade cards with collages of imagery cut from magazines that have been augmented by drawings and captions.

The remainder are slightly more traditional letters, providing details about Thor's doings and asking Loki to return the favor. Loki allows himself to re-read them right after he wakes up and just before he goes to bed, but he's not quite ready to write a response.

At lunch with his mother in late August, Loki takes a deep breath and says, “Tell me about her.”

  
  


4 Near

 

In fifth grade their class had sex ed, and Loki didn't think he'd ever have to worry about it. Not because it was all penis-in-vagina “reproductive health,” - Frigga filled in all the blanks when they came home, quizzing them on what their teacher had covered, making corrections and additions as necessary. The problem was that puberty hadn't struck yet. Loki just wanted to hold Thor's hand. Sneak into his bed and wrap his arms around him at night. Kiss him on the cheek and wake up at the same time to resume whatever game they'd been obliged to put on hold when they went to sleep.

To share a bed seemed like the height of pleasure to Loki. To lie unconscious and vulnerable beside the one he loved. To share blankets, pillows, and the one space in all the world that really felt like his own - having a dent shaped just like him in its center. To cuddle close and keep each other warm, like animals in a den. Soft. Safe. Basic. Essential.

But by eighth grade, Loki knew he was in trouble.

He just didn't know why.

He found the world's logic wanting. And it wasn't their business anyway.

Sex struck him as natural and innocent. Loving Thor was as inescapable as eating, breathing, and sunrise. And they were twins. Surely that counted for something. There had to be some exception.

He couldn't find it.

Thor always seemed to be in motion, and he had greater mass, so Loki was pulled into his orbit. But it made Loki bitter. Loki just wanted Thor to be. With him. And to want to be with him. Happy, calm, and silent. Not all the time. Loki loved to go crashing around with his brother, too. But Loki needed balance. All that action called for a comparable quantity of stillness.

Loki never got it.

Loki could indulge in stillness himself, but Thor rarely joined him. So Loki needed more and more of this quiet. Grew irritable without it. Couldn't take Thor's light and noise and speed.

But now Loki knows he can't fault his brother for being himself – it's who he fell in love with in the first place, after all.

And, though Loki gave and Thor took, that was Loki's choice: Thor doesn't owe him anything. And that was a hard lesson to learn, but in the end it made life easier, because it means Loki doesn't owe Thor either. They have no debt. Aid and love and trust are theirs to grant as they see fit. Gifts, not trades or payments.

And Loki still wants to grant them.

It makes him proud of himself.

Loki rarely wanted Thor in his room when he was an adolescent. Or, rather, he wanted it too much and it made him feel too exposed. He needed at least one space that did have blond hair draped over every surface. That didn't smell like the air when the sun comes back out after rain on a hot July morning. That didn't have reminders of Thor's warmth and goodness and beauty hidden like traps behind every atom. Loki tried so hard to quit cold turkey. To keep Thor away and starve his unbounded love for his brother out of himself. To push Thor to safety and save them both heartache.

But it hurt Thor anyway.

The corners of his mouth would turn down when Loki would kick him out and shout at him. And nothing pained Loki more than hurting his brother. So the end result was the same: ache with him or ache without him.

Loki felt safer going into Thor's space. Thor's room was meant to smell like Thor. There was enough of Thor everywhere to overwhelm Loki's influence. Loki wasn't sure what his own body smelled like. He assumed it was akin to gasoline on wet pavement, rotting wood, and fungus... in spirit anyway. That Thor would be tainted by time spent in Loki's space, while Loki would be purified by time spent in Thor's room.

Loki realizes he's done it again – going to the house their grandparents left to both of them. Into a space that is Thor's.

But it's also his own.

He supposes that's something, though he's not sure what. He hopes he can call it progress.

Loki keeps at it in his studio every night after work and updates his blog.

Summer wanes and the cool air soothes him.

He keeps having lunch with his mom.

Thor keeps sending him notes.

When Loki finally invites his brother over, the balance of power is his own. Thor is the one who is out of his element. Unmoored.

Thor knocks on the familiar door and waits. The sound of footsteps on the other side sends a jolt of adrenaline through him.

“Come on in,” Loki says, with a voice that's summer and winter all at once. “It's your house, too. I shouldn't even be inviting you – it goes without saying.”

Thor hands over the gallon of cider he brought, jug sweating against his fingers, and steps across the threshold.

Loki makes a round, pleased sound – he can never resist cider. He likes it hot, but loves it cold. Somehow the cold makes more sense to him with the flavor - it matches the shocking tartness and acidity.

Almost all the furniture was was sold after their grandparents died and the money from the sale was used to keep the house itself in good order until the boys were old enough to know what they might want to do with it. Freyr has been looking after it all these years.

There's a strange music to the place. No grandfather clock ticks and chimes, gone now. The home is surrounded by trees and hills, and the road is always a quiet one – there's no sound of cars. But it's late in summer and the air is filled with cicadas buzzing and crickets trilling. The birds seem desperate to be heard, calling unseen to their mates in the trees. A breeze sets the tall grass rustling.

All green living sounds, woven like a spell through Loki's little world.

He has a few simple furnishings. A comfortable armchair by the fireplace. A couch long enough for him to stretch out on. Thick rugs. Pretty curtains. A stool at the kitchen counter. A teacup in the strainer.

Thor feels his face go red and his throat tighten and he stares out the window while he waits for it to pass.

“I can still smell them. Just a little,” Thor says, when he recovers. “And you, now, too.”

“I notice it when I get back from work,” Loki says. “Especially on days when I've had all the windows closed. Grandma's perfume at the top of the stairs and Grandpa's Old Spice to the left of the fireplace.”

Thor looks at the hearth and sees the empty nooks on either side of it where wood is meant to go.

“I brought you firewood. It's in the back of my truck,” Thor says, and they go outside and carry it all in, stacking it neatly in the slots.

Thor looks fit. Frigga said he had been working out a lot with Sif. Loki thinks of the yoga mat that's rolled up under his bed, nearly worn through from all the use he's given it since June.

“Mom said you're apartment-hunting,” Loki says, pulling a splinter out of his palm.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Feels weird at the house,” Thor shrugs. “Kind of a fifth wheel vibe. I want to get out of their hair.”

“No, I get that, I mean why don't you just stay here?”

“It's, um...”

“It's ours,” Loki finishes. “And it's paid for. Utilities are practically nothing. Taxes and insurance aren't bad. You'd be in the middle of all of your customers.”

Thor nods and runs his fingers through his hair, raking his scalp.

“I don't want to be a fifth wheel here, too,” Thor says.

“You won't.”

Loki wants to nip this in the bud. He knows he shouldn't, but he still can't resist. When Frigga told him Thor was looking to move, Loki texted his brother that very night, asking if he'd like to stop by for dinner the following Saturday. Thor moving out and Thor moving far away are synonymous in Loki's mind. It's the first and last step in losing Thor to a world Loki doesn't think is worthy of his brother. It would be unbearable.

Loki fixes tacos and they have margaritas and Loki likes that the alcohol gives him the excuse to make Thor stay an extra hour just to be sure he's able to drive safely. They spend the time showing each other all the ridiculous shit they've found on youtube and tumblr over the summer. They're side by side on the couch, thighs touching. Loki's laptop is perched on his knees and Thor is leaning into him to get a better view. They're jostling each other with laughter.

Thor flops back and settles into the couch, head lolling on his neck and a fond smile quirking his lips.

“So... When can I move in?” Thor asks, and Loki has to stifle a squeal.

He lets it out after Thor's car pulls away and augments it by jumping up and down.

Loki isn't sure how long Thor will stay in this house, but, for a little while at least, they'll finally have their own world. Loki feels rich.

It's late enough in the year that Thor has missed all the garage and estate sales. He takes Loki's advice and orders what he needs from Ikea. He gets a chair to match the one Loki already got. A dresser, nightstand, and a king sized bed. Lamps, cupboards, linens, curtains, and rugs. A proper dining table. They spend a weekend assembling and arranging all of it.

Every creak of Thor's feet on the floor makes him feel clumsy and rude. Too big. Wrong.

Loki is slight and silent and graceful, and seems leagues away to Thor.

Untouchable and impenetrable.

Thor is frightened that he won't be able to make up the distance.

Afraid Loki isn't going to help him.

That there will be no hints. No slowing his pace to let Thor catch up.

Thor knows he had a whole decade to be a better brother – to fix what was breaking right in front of him - and he squandered it. He didn't even have the decency to know he was doing it. He's only aware of his negligence now.

But it can't be helped.

Thor will do his best and pray it's not too little, too late.

In the mirror every morning Thor sees the little wrinkles spreading across his face and he knows sixty good years is likely the best he can hope for. The press of time against his back burns him. He wants all sixty. And more, but he'll take what he can get.

But Thor doesn't know exactly what he wants yet, and he doesn't know what his brother wants anymore either. And he doesn't want to get it wrong, because it'll cost them more time in the long run, so he's going to do the legwork. Gather the evidence and let it sink in and then surface again.

He used to think he had forever – that they had forever.

One time they almost did.

A month after they finished high school, Freyr had the twins over and gave them shrooms as a graduation present. He wanted to keep an eye on them - make sure they didn't do anything dangerous or look at something upsetting while they were tripping.

Freyr had tried everything under the sun once, but this was the only thing he felt was worth repeating. He grew his own, since horse shit was readily available, and that way he knew that what he was taking - and, by extension, giving to his nephews - was safe.

The boys sat on the couch watching My Neighbor Totoro until they got distracted by the patterns on the pillows and spent time holding them up and spinning them.

Freyr thought of kittens as he watched the boys.

Then their hands captured their attention.

“Your skin is blue from the TV,” Thor said, taking Loki's wrist. “And look how long your fingers are. You're going to be ten feet tall.”

Loki giggled and sagged against his brother.

“You're made of stone,” Loki said, and knocked on Thor's shoulder with his knuckles.

Then they got distracted by each other's hair.

Thor rolled off Loki's hair tie and spent ages scooping up the loose curls and letting them fall, over and over.

“Feels like feathers,” Loki said, looking at Thor's eyes as his own hair skated down over his cheeks.

“Have to be ravens',” Thor nodded.

Thor stopped playing with Loki's hair and ran a fingertip over Loki's cheek.

“It ripples like water before it freezes back into your face,” Thor said, and kept tracing Loki's features until the touch seemed to tickle his fingertip. “I could count your eyelashes.”

Loki was still staring at Thor's eyes.

“The ice giants,” Loki murmured, staring at the blinking rings of blue.

“Hmmm?”

“Uranus and Neptune,” Loki clarified. “The twin planets. The god of the sky and the god of the sea. But the rest of you is like the sun. And gold spaghetti,” Loki giggled.

“What?”

“On your head,” Loki said. “Like a wig. Or a crown. It looks heavy.”

“Maybe that's why my neck is so thick,” Thor smiled, and Loki fell on him laughing and then they started tickling each other and cackling.

When they were too winded to continue they sat there panting and taking turns staring at each other's hands again, following the lines on their palms, seeing every trench and swirl of their fingerprints, tracing all the little blood vessels that wound like rivers through the flesh. The rainbow of colors they'd never noticed before. The details. They were captivated by the sensitivity of the skin on the inner wrist, where the veins leapt tendons and came close to the surface, blue and bulging like tree roots.

“Tell my fortune,” Thor said, as Loki's fingers mapped his skin.

“I don't know how to read palms,” Loki answered, and took Thor's hand anyway.

Loki picked the longest line and traced it back and forth.

“This is your life line,” Loki said. “It goes all the way across. That means you'll live forever.”

Thor smiled and kissed Loki's cheek.

Loki picked the next longest line. It ran parallel to the one he'd just finished and had a sketchy start, but then got thick and dark.

“This is your love line. You can see it coming together here and getting stronger. It doesn't end until your palm ends. You'll be loved all your life.”

Loki kissed Thor's cheek and then found a generous vertical line.

“This is your luck line. It starts a third of the way through your life line and runs to the end of your palm. You'll get what you want, and you'll keep it.”

Loki took Thor's fingers one after the other.

“Your fingers are all long and slim and even. You are constant. Faithful. Fair. Even your thumb is long and slender. You have unexpected grace.”

Loki folded Thor's hand into a fist.

“This is how big your heart is.”

Loki kissed Thor's knuckles and then slotted his fingers between his brother's and they squeezed each other's hands.

“You got Mom's lips,” Loki murmured, watching Thor's smile.

“You got her cheekbones,” Thor said, tracing the hollow above his brother's jaw.

“You got her hair.”

“You got Salma Hayek's hair.”

They lost themselves to laughter again.

By the time the chemicals wore off, they both would have sworn centuries had elapsed and they'd spent lifetimes laughing together.

The feeling never quite left them.

In the meantime, Thor orders more rugs from Ikea to muffle his footsteps. He gets Loki's art framed and hangs it. Loki raises an eyebrow at this, but says nothing. Thor catches his brother smiling as he walks through the house, staring at walls that are no longer bare.

Loki's room is serene. All harmonious greys and glossy blacks. Lots of texture in the rugs and linens. A secret shock of color when you fold back the coverlet and find marigold sheets.

Thor's room is practically a pride parade. Loki loves the cheerful chromatic explosion - it's like stepping into a painting. And it smells like Thor in the room. Homey and safe.

Thor is tidier than Loki remembers. When Loki meets Frigga for lunch a few days later, he asks her if she warned Thor to pick up after himself.

“No,” she says. “He's been that way since Steve. That was the first and only fight they had when they were living together. Steve likes things neat.”

Loki nods and silently thanks Steve for saving his sanity.

“When did he get so quiet?” Loki asks.

Frigga glares at him.

“When you left,” she says. “Jesus, Loki, what did you think it would do to him? He had no idea. You punished him for something he hadn't done - kicked him when he was already down. He was so angry with your dad and he was so fucking loyal. He'd never gone more than a week without at least texting you, and it was only that long because he went to Canada with Steve and couldn't use his phone. You took so much from him. I had to check the driveway for his truck or peek in his room to know if he was home. He didn't talk. Didn't smile. Didn't listen to music. He went to work, went to the gym with Sif, and went to his room.”

“I saw him out with Jane less than a week later-”

“They'd made those plans a month before,” Frigga snaps. “She was only in town for a few days and he wasn't about to leave her hanging just because he was having a shitty time.”

Frigga is shaking with anger. Loki has never heard her swear before.

“I'm sorry,” Loki whispers.

“Tell him that,” she says.

  
  


5 Orbiting

 

The brothers fall into a comfortable routine. At dinner they talk about their days in a shorthand that describes the moods of the horses they trained or shod.

This evening Thor learns that Loki's day was angelic, sleepy, flatulent, gorgeous, and murderous.

Thor's day was fidgety, muddy, ornery, a leaner, Akhal-Teke and we are fucking getting a pair if it's the last thing we do, indifferent, andweirdly cooperative.

Thor is pleased to see that Loki no longer hides under t-shirts that are two sizes too large and loose jeans.

That his curls bounce and shine. He used to straighten them - grow them long enough to pull back into a ponytail and tame them that way. Now he keeps them down to his chin, just too short to pull back properly, and they wind up and point to his eyes and cheekbones like arrows all day long.

Loki is eating well and his skin looks good. Not dry or sallow.

Thor marvels at the grace of his brother's motions, and how that grace remains intact even when Loki thinks Thor isn't looking.

The way his voice is rough and smooth all at once.

The symmetry of his eyelids.

The clarity of his jawline.

The little knot of his Adam's apple that always makes Thor think of the way Loki's pelvis peeks out through the thin skin of his hips. Of what Loki looks like when he wanders around in boxer-briefs before breakfast, the bulge of his cock stretching the thin jersey.

Thor watches his brother coming down the stairs with a swing in his hips and wonders, was Loki always sex on stilts?

Thor starts following Loki around the way Loki once followed him. Coming to his room and watching him paint, or reading beside him on the couch. He tries not to hover or be too intrusive, but he can't help himself sometimes and sits so close to Loki that their knees touch, leaving three feet of empty sofa to his left.

Thor builds a grill and brings home turkeys from his hunts with Hogun. The brothers eat like kings. Loki gets a tiny secret glee when he sees Thor cooking. Always has. There's something about being provided for – with actual nourishment that is always delicious, because Thor has always had a sixth sense when it comes to what to do in the kitchen – that makes Loki's soul purr.

And Thor keeps his promise. He and Steve still talk. Steve met an older man. Phil. And that makes sense to Thor. Sometimes Thor would try to convince Steve that they should play beer pong at the tiny dining table in their apartment all day. Or buy some cute underwear and wear it to the pride parade. Or fill the bathtub with jell-o and roll around in it. Or build a pillow fort and then spend the day napping, fucking, and eating candy in it. And Steve would look at him fondly and say, “You have a six page paper due tomorrow, champ.”

Steve tells him Phil is a hopeless romantic and doesn't try to hide it. Thor is glad Steve found a good old fashioned gentleman out there. He deserves it. Thor did his best, but he knew sometimes he was a little too reckless and earthy for Steve's tastes.

On a Monday evening, Loki is absentmindedly looking for food. Restless. He used to do it at his parents' house, too. He'd get stuck on a painting – or finish one and not know what he wanted to do next – and he'd wander to the kitchen and root around until something struck his fancy. Frigga always used to hide her favorite snacks from Odin, setting them in the cupboard on top of the dinner plates instead of in the pantry with the rest of the sweets, and Loki would sneak one on occasion. He still looks on top of the dinner plates in his own kitchen out of habit.

He does it tonight and quietly gasps. Sitting atop the stack of plates is a bag of mini heath bars and a box of chocolate-dipped butterkeks.

Two days later, the decorative ceramic bowl on the counter top is full of the stupidly expensive organic honeycrisp apples Loki loves, and when Loki goes to the fridge to grab the ingredients for their leftover-turkey sandwiches, he finds two gallons of apple cider.

On Thursday night Loki takes inventory of the paint in his tackle box so that he can buy more on his way home from work the next day and not have to go out shopping over the weekend. But he doesn't need anything: there are full tubes of everything that was all squeezed out and crumpled: indigo, burnt sienna, permanent rose, and sap green. And there are three new detail brushes – Loki's old ones were starting to spread a bit and had lost a lot of bristles.

Loki wonders what Saint Nicholas looked like when he was young. His money is on tall, blond, blue-eyed, and beautiful.

In the middle of November a man asks Loki out for coffee while he's waiting in line at a bakery.

Loki says yes and they make a date for the following Friday.

“Do I look okay?” Loki asks, on the appointed evening, turning around in front of Thor in a green button-down and black trousers and trying not to look nervous.

“Killer. Why?”

“Date.”

“Oh.”

“Just coffee. Figured I could use the practice. And he was cute.”

Thor's mouth is still open from his soft oh when he nods and shakes himself slightly.

“Be safe,” Thor says.

“It's just coffee,” Loki shrugs. “Tea, in my case.”

“Well, call if it turns into cocktails and you need a ride home.”

“I will.”

Loki is on his fourth cup of tea when his date finally shows up.

“Wanna get out of here?” The man says, as soon as he's seated.

“Love to,” Loki answers, after a beat. “Have somewhere in mind?”

“My place.”

“Perfect,” Loki purrs. “I have some errands to run first. What's the address?”

The man writes it on a napkin.

“I shouldn't be more than twenty minutes behind you,” Loki says, and the man smiles and goes back out to his car.

Loki watches him pull away through the window.

He orders another tea.

Then apple cider.

It's too hot, so he lets it cool.

He gets another one to go when he's finished.

He runs his errands.

They need more hand soap.

Thor used the last of the eggs for their breakfast that morning, so Loki gets two dozen of those.

Bacon to go with them.

Ice cream, because the cider made him think of apple pie, which made him want vanilla bean ice cream.

Caramel sauce to put on the ice cream, and to dip apples in.

The fresh baked goods have been reduced because it's the end of the day, so he grabs croissants and danishes.

Then he feels guilty and gets cucumbers, lettuce, and apples (for the caramel, if he's honest).

He thinks a moment and grabs carrots, onions, celery, and tomatoes, because it's bow season and Thor's going hunting with Hogun tomorrow, and venison stew sounds lovely.

When Loki gets home Thor is sideways in a chair, facing the door, with a pencil in his mouth. Thor prefers the cheap ones - with the slightly darker shade of yellow paint, the softer lead and wood, and the green ring at the top – the nicer ones are too hard and it makes them unsatisfying to chew. Thor likes to feel the wood compress as he leaves the indentations of his teeth across the entire surface. Likes to crush the ferrules and taste the sharp metallic tang. To bite off the erasers and blow them across the room.

Loki feels the little rubber nubs under the soles of his oxfords as he walks to the closet. When he looks at the coffee table he sees Thor has gone through half a box.

Thor gets up to take the grocery bags off of Loki's arms and Loki sees the furrow in Thor's forehead, deeper than it's ever been. It never goes away anymore, but it had been getting better. Tonight the canyon between those bushy eyebrows looks like a cut on Thor's face.

Loki first saw the crease when they were in the lobby after the 2001 screening. He wants to tell himself the injury was put there by Odin, because that's where the story started. But Loki was the one to turn the lie into a weapon. And he aimed it at Thor. To punish him for the wound Thor had unwittingly given him: for loving him like a brother.

I punished him for Odin's lie and for my own longing.

“Have fun?” Thor asks, as he puts the food away.

“In a way,” Loki says, and huffs a laugh before bending to pick up erasers.

“I'll get those,” Thor says, coming over and crouching. “Sorry,” he mutters. “College habit. I tell myself it's better than smoking, but it's still pretty gross. You gonna tell me what happened?”

“He showed up an hour late, for which he did not apologize, sat down, and basically said he wanted me to come over and fuck him.”

Loki sees Thor's jaw flex and his face go red.

“So,” Loki continues, “I got his address and said I had some errands to run, but that afterward I'd be right over. And then I killed half an hour at the coffee shop, picked up groceries, and came home.”

“Sorry,” Thor says, and his forehead looks better.

Loki shrugs.

“Let's eat the ice cream while it's still soft,” Loki says, already on his way to the kitchen.

They sit at the table and nurse their desserts.

“Remind me,” Loki says, licking caramel from his lip, “To dump horse shit all over his car some hot night next summer. He won't be expecting it, and it'd be a shame to let his address go to waste. Drives a red Mustang.”

“We can haul it in my truck. It'll fit way more than your car.”

Loki grins.

Thor does the washing up. Loki does the drying and puts away the dishes. Then he dries Thor's hands.

“Sorry,” Loki says.

“For what?” Thor asks.

Loki kisses Thor under the right eye and on the bridge of the nose where he struck him.

Then Loki kisses Thor's left cheek: his memory still overlays the red imprint of Odin's hand on the skin.

“Sorry again,” Loki murmurs.

“Why?” Thor asks.

“He hit you.”

“Yep. And he can apologize for it. Not you.”

“It was my fault.”

“No. The hitting was all him. The disobedience was all me.”

“I talked you into it. I wanted to see the parade, too... and see what he'd do.”

Thor shakes his head no and looks over Loki's face.

“Did he ever hit you?” Thor asks.

“No.”

Thor drops his shoulders and wraps his arms around Loki's waist, pulling him in for a hug. They stand in the kitchen and listen to the fluorescent bulbs humming and the suds in the sink popping. Loki buries his nose in Thor's shoulder and stares at the structured knit of his sweater. The color has faded from deep red to slightly pink. Loki gave it to Thor for their birthday three years ago, thinking he'd look handsome in it and knowing Thor likes to be warm. Loki makes a mental note to get Thor a replacement this year, for the garment is on its last legs.

They each lie awake in their beds for over an hour that night.

Neither of them knows what to say. How to ask.

Their dreams don't give them any answers.

They get up early and have bacon and egg sandwiches on croissants for breakfast before Thor leaves to hunt.

It's unseasonably warm in the morning, but it gets cold and starts to rain while Thor's out. Loki notices, but leaves Thor's bedroom window open anyway.

Thor comes home, wet, bloodied, and beaming, with bags of meat on his arms. Loki is curled up in his chair, reading.

“Which one of you got it?” Loki asks, and then looks up to find Thor smiling. “Never mind. I can see your wisdom teeth.”

Loki climbs to his feet and helps Thor pack the meat into the freezer, putting what he wants to make into stew in the fridge for Sunday's dinner.

At eleven thirty, Thor gets out of the shower and goes to his room.

Loki hears a muffled curse.

“What's wrong?” Loki calls, and listens to Thor's footsteps in the hall.

“Rain got in. Bed's all wet,” Thor answers, and Loki hears the hall closet open and the cord trailing on the floor as Thor drags out the oscillating fan to dry his mattress.

“Now what are you doing?” Loki asks, hearing lots of snapping and shuffling.

“Laundry.”

“Just stuff it down the chute and wait til morning.”

“I need sheets for the couch,” Thor says, leaning on Loki's door frame with his arms full of damp bedding. “Do you have any extra?”

“No, sorry. We should go to Target or something. Just sleep in here.”

Thor goes down the hall to dump the laundry and Loki listens to learn whether Thor will go downstairs and sleep on the sofa or if he'll grant Loki this greatly missed intimacy – those shared nights in bed after Thor and Steve broke up were the most restful of Loki's life, however awful their inception might have been.

Loki's pulse picks up when he hears footsteps in the hall and sees his brother's silhouette in the doorway just before he turns the hall light out. Loki shuffles to the far side of the mattress and Thor climbs in and settles next to him.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Thor murmurs.

“Stew in the crock pot. Then maybe I'll nap while it cooks. Or paint. It's supposed to be cloudy. Makes me lazy.”

Thor hums.

“Did you close your window?” Loki asks.

“Fuck,” Thor groans, and gets back out of bed.

Loki feels the whole house give the faintest shudder as Thor shuts his window before staggering back into Loki's room.

They stay up talking.

Thor doesn't let on that he knows Loki left the window open just to drench his bed and force him out of it.

Loki doesn't let on that he knows there are plenty of clean dry sheets in the bottom drawer of Thor's dresser.

Loki's eyes saw, but his rational mind missed, the changes in Thor's behavior over the last two months.

He replays them in his memory as he listens to Thor's breathing. Wonders how he overlooked it. Feels guilty for wounding his brother yet again, going off on a date with a stranger while Thor sat at home punishing pencils. Thor still takes his anger out on objects. Loki tells himself he needs to learn that trick. He can't keep taking it out on Thor.

Thor worries he's too late.

And, even if Loki still wants him, how do you make love to your brother?

Thor is afraid Loki would interpret it to mean Thor isn't thinking of him as a brother anymore.

And neither of them is sure sex can even give them what they want.

To slide into each other's shapes entire, wearing their brother's body like a chrysalis and emerging as what they always felt they were, but lacked the means to be. To step through the mirror and into their twin's reflection. To shatter everything that separates them. To be made one by the solution they've subconsciously sought to their oldest problem; how to turn unmatched halves into a whole.

The task seems daunting, but it's not the earth that needs moving.

Merely minds that need changing, words that want unlearning, and rules to be slated for breaking.

Thor slots their fingers together beneath the blanket.

One of Loki's painting professors lent him the Tao Te Ching after looking through Loki's sketches. Halfway through the book, Loki was on Amazon ordering himself a copy.

The first line has always stuck with him.

Tao called Tao is not Tao.

To name a thing is to draw a line. Between light and dark. Between this and that.

But the line only exists in your head. The universe makes no distinctions. It's the ego that insists on me and, by extension, you.

In the morning Loki puts the book under Thor's nose while Thor is sitting at the counter eating an apple.

Loki finds his brother reading it in bed when he comes out of his shower that night and peeks in Thor's door.

“It's not that long,” Loki says.

“This is my second reading, thank you very much. And I raked leaves all day while you were painting and baking cookies, you dickbag.”

“You ate the shit out of those fucking cookies, though, didn't you, smartass?” Loki says, throwing his wet towel at his brother.

“You're going to ruin your own book, you derper,” Thor laughs, setting it down and grabbing the towel.

Loki runs when he sees Thor winding the towel into a rope, but he isn't fast enough: Thor whips his butt as he skids out the door to scramble into his own room.

Loki yelps and jumps onto his bed to shield himself with pillows, but Thor manages a few more smacks to Loki's hips and flanks before he leaves to hang the towel up to dry and take a shower of his own.

They've been leaving the door open when they shower to let the warmth and humidity out into the bedrooms - it soothes their skin now that the furnace is on. Loki sneaks into the bathroom and waits until he hears the click of the shampoo bottle, then snakes his arm past the curtain and turns off the hot water while Thor is lathering his hair.

“Fuckfuckfuck!” Thor shrieks, blindly fumbling for the dial. “Any last words?”

“It was worth it,” Loki says. “I didn't know your voice could get that high.”

Thor snorts.

 

6 Colliding

 

When Thor comes out of the shower, he looks across the hall, but Loki's room is dark. Thor's mouth twists. He wanted to stretch the weekend out a little longer. Make some empty threats. Ask Loki about the book and his paintings.

He combs his hair and pats it dry. Brushes and flosses methodically because their grandfather didn't have a tooth in his head when he died and Thor wants to go to his grave with as many of them still in his skull as he can manage.

He runs downstairs to grab his phone and sets his alarm as he walks back up to his room. His skin tightens against the chill of the house. Loki keeps the furnace set at a brisk sixty-five.

But Thor's bed will be warm, for when he walks into his room he finds his brother stretched out under the blankets, reading. Thor goes still, standing naked on the rug, staring.

Loki pales.

“Have I got it wrong?” Loki breathes.

“No,” Thor says, shaking his head, and Loki sags into the pillow with a slow exhale.

“How long have you known?” Loki asks.

“Which part?” Thor says.

“Both, I guess.”

“After we saw 2001, for you. Sort of between the lines of those little rage-texts you sent. And then I felt so stupid. I still can't believe I missed it.”

“I know the feeling,” Loki says.

“For myself... I wasn't sure until about a month ago. I followed your blog all summer... and thought about you... and about this. But theory and practice are different worlds and... it took a while. But seeing you... You seemed more yourself here, if that makes sense. Or it was easier for me to see you.”

Loki nods.

Of course he found my blog, Loki thinks.

Thor sets his phone on the dresser and climbs into bed, feeling the pocket of warmth from Loki's skin envelop him.

And still they worry. Wonder.

Where do we start? What toll will this take?

It's equal parts thrilling and terrifying to both of them.

Because they know each other so well already. Know just where to press to yield the most pain. They've seen the best and worst. But still theywant. They try to take that as a good sign.

But they're afraid to seem greedy. Afraid to take too much. Or not enough. Afraid they won't have enough to give.

And somehow this would lay them bare in an uncharted way. Leave them helpless. Make them vulnerable to deeper wounds than those they bear already. It's so dangerous: there are few things more more frightening than being seen.

It's what they don't know that drives them forward. Their optimism, still intact after everything: at the very least, they'll come away from this collision with more knowledge than they had before.

Thor knows it would be easiest to turn out the light, so he doesn't. He wants to keep an eye on Loki's jaw - his tell. Loki can never keep it from going tense when he's really upset. It's loose right now. Thor intends for it to stay that way.

He takes the book from Loki's chest and sets it on the nightstand. Loki folds his arms behind his head, willing himself to relax. Thor presses his front to Loki's side, wraps his arm around Loki's waist, and rests his head on Loki's shoulder.

They're still in the same spot when their alarms wake them eight hours later.

They follow their usual routine. Loki makes coffee, sets the table, and packs lunches while Thor cooks breakfast. They read the news on their laptops as they eat and then trudge back upstairs to dress. Today Thor kisses Loki goodbye. Just a peck on the cheek before they go out the door, but something they've never done before. Loki smiles to himself all day.

Thor gets home first and starts dinner. Loki kisses him hello on the cheek while Thor stands in front of the stove. He wants to pay back the joy Thor gave him that morning.

After dinner they sit on the couch and read, Thor at the end sitting upright, and Loki with his head in Thor's lap and his book on his chest.

Thor abandons his novel to run his fingers through Loki's hair after only two chapters. Loki stops turning the pages of his book and stays put for almost an hour.

“I'm going to take a shower,” Loki says.

And that's new.

He never announces it.

Thor follows him upstairs.

They strip and stand side by side at the sink as they brush their teeth.

They have a mirror in the shower to help them when they shave and now they use it to spy on each other. They're hardly strangers to the sight of each other's bodies: it was always so hot upstairs in their rooms at their parents' house every summer they were nearly nudists anyway. But bathing makes it easy to touch.

They wash each other's backs and feel the ribs and spine beneath the skin. Just two beings of blood and bone like any other. Tiny animals trapped together on a giant rock that's hurtling around a star.

And Thor can't see the difference between massaging Loki's scalp as they sat on the sofa and cleaning his body now in the bath. They're both physical manifestations of care. A kiss would be no different, and they've shared plenty of those. A press of lips to skin. To the cheek, to the mouth, to the thigh. They're synonyms.

Afterward, they spoon together in Thor's bed and Thor kisses the nape of Loki's neck as they drift off to sleep. Loki hums and squeezes Thor's hand.

They both kiss each other's cheeks goodbye before they leave for work the next morning and it makes dragging themselves out of bed worthwhile.

Thor thinks of Harry Harlow's monkey experiments as he drives from barn to barn. Awful, but illuminating. He remembers Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Sex is at the base with breathing, food, water, sleep, homeostasis, and excretion. Sexual intimacy is at the center with friendship and family as the components of a sense of love and belonging. Loki is putting all his eggs in one basket a bit, there. But Thor knows his brother still talks to their mom all the time, so Thor isn't his only family. Two out of three. They can work on finding Loki some friends once they've got themselves sorted out. Thor hopes his own are an option.

Thor kisses the corner of Loki's mouth when Loki gets in the door that night and then takes his coat to hang it. Loki hugs Thor long and tight when he turns back from the closet.

After dinner they don't bother with books but lie down on the couch. Loki tucks his head under Thor's chin and they wrap their arms around each other. Thor puts his thigh over Loki's hip. They fall asleep for two hours. When Loki wakes he finds his brother's blue eyes waiting for his own.

“We need to talk,” Thor murmurs, and he sees Loki's jaw clench.

Thor chuckles and kisses the tip of Loki's nose as he rubs Loki's back.

“We're just going to save ourselves some trouble,” Thor says. “Take the guess work out if we can.”

Loki nods.

“And you don't have to answer,” Thor adds. “And you don't have to know the answer. Just tell me either way, and ask me whatever you want, too, okay?”

“'Kay.”

“Had sex?”

“No.”

“Want to?” Thor asks, and feels his arm lift with Loki's deeply drawn breath.

“Yes.”

“Masturbate much?”

“Constantly,” Loki sighs.

“Good. Gotta know what you like. And orgasms are good for you.”

Loki nods.

“Do you want a romantic relationship, a sexual relationship, or both, or neither,” Thor asks.

“How could it be neither? I already said I want sex.”

“Sex isn't a relationship, it's an act. You could have sex for a few minutes with a complete stranger. And that would be fine. There's nothing wrong with that.”

Loki nods.

“I want relationships. For both,” Loki says.

“Do you want either of them with me?” Thor says.

“Both,” Loki breathes, and braces himself.

“Then we're on the same page.”

Loki sobs and Thor hugs him tight and rubs his back.

“You can change your mind about any of this at any time,” Thor says. “And if you do, you tell me. Promise?”

“Promise,” Loki says, and it's Thor's turn to break.

“But you're still my twin,” Thor says. “You're my brother. Nothing's going to change that for me. And I need to know if that's something you believe. And if it's something you can live with.”

Loki is nodding and sobbing Yes against Thor's lips and Thor presses forward and kisses him, chastely but firmly, on the mouth.

“STI status?” Thor says, and Loki scowls at him.

“I'm as clean as the day I was born.”

“We were born,” Thor corrects, and Loki rolls his eyes, but smiles.

“And you?” Loki asks.

“Same,” Thor says, and sighs, frowning. “I got tested after Steve and I broke up. Got all depressed and paranoid and thought What if he was cheating on me the whole time? What if he was never in love with me? and all that shit. And then I felt like a complete asshole for it afterward, which I needed like a hole in the head...”

Loki gives Thor a squeeze.

“One more question,” Thor says, and Loki nods. “What are we going to tell people?”

“Nothing,” Loki answers instantly. “We are single. We aren't looking. We are content.”

“Okay,” Thor says, and kisses Loki again.

And then they lie there in a heap and let their nerves calm.

They take their shared shower. It's a lazy affair. They're both deep in their own heads, but they do remember to scrub each other's backs and shoulders.

They sleep in Loki's bed that night.

He bought a double bed, because he wanted to be able to move it himself. It has the added appeal of being very nearly too small for the two of them together, so they're forced to pile up in the middle, snuggling. Loki turns Thor into his own private body pillow. Thor just hums and lets himself enjoy it.

It smells like Loki in here and Thor loves it. Loki smells like green wood and Ritz crackers. Even when it's hot out. Thor is fairly certain that Loki could forgo deodorant and bathing for days before he'd start to smell, and even then, Thor doesn't think Loki would stink. He's pretty sure he'd just smell more heavily of wood and Ritz crackers. Thor makes a mental note to ask his brother to neglect his hygiene some weekend... for science.

“G'night, hon. Love you,” Thor murmurs, and kisses the top of Loki's head.

Loki squeaks.

Thor pretends not to notice.

In their shower the next night, Thor takes the soap from Loki's hands. He gently scrubs the fuzzy hollows of his armpits and tickles them to make Loki smile and twitch. Hugs Loki close and reaches around to knead his neck and shoulders and slide slippery fingers down the knobs of his spine. He can feel Loki's cock getting hard against his hip, and somehow it's the most generous gift Thor has ever been given. To know Loki is comfortable enough and enjoying himself enough to respond like this. It makes Thor hard, too.

And it's not entirely unfamiliar. They're healthy young men. They get hard in the morning. These last few days they've awakened to the insistent press of erections against hips and backsides.

Loki has always found morning-wood oddly charming; it's hopeless and embarrassing and absurd, but it always looks so cheerful and optimistic. It gives the penis personality and the appearance of purpose when the rest of the body is barely holding itself together - mind stumbling out of dreams, face pillow-creased, eyes unfocused.

They stand there under the hot spray and kiss each other's necks softly. And then Thor backs Loki up against the tile and carries on with his washing. He palms the pleasant swells of Loki's pectorals. Runs his hands down firm arms. Tickles Loki's tiny waist and swirls a finger around his navel. Scrubs his ridiculous legs and bony feet.

And then he lathers his hands and looks up to Loki for permission.

Loki nods and shuffles his feet apart.

Thor carefully soaps Loki's balls, furry and fragile, and hears Loki moan quietly. He gently pulls back the foreskin and cleanses Loki's cock. The skin is smooth and taut, and the flesh bobs in his hand. He hears his brother's soft Oh God, breathed into the steamy air above him. He's careful to rinse Loki well afterward. Then he stands and pulls Loki close again and reaches behind him to knead the wonderful curves of his ass before fitting his finger into the crease and following it to the twitching crater of Loki's anus. Loki jumps a bit and then laughs. Thor hums and kisses Loki's neck again.

And then it's Loki's turn and he can't stop smiling. He sets Thor against the wall and runs his hands in tiny bubbling circles over the swells and curves of Thor's arms. Traces the muscles that are braided over his chest. The rhythmic hills of his abs. He teases the valleys that run over Thor's narrow hips and then he dips to tickle the backs of Thor's knees and the soles of his feet. He hears Thor giggling and gasping above him and he feels younger than he has in years. He soaps Thor's cock with his hands fisted end over end because he's always wondered if the tip would stick out past the edge of his uppermost fist.

It does.

Loki grins and shakes his head before dropping his hands down to lather Thor's balls and then reaching his right hand underneath to wash Thor's behind. Loki sees Thor's cock bob at this and he feels relieved: they're not even trying - they're just giving each other a bath - and they're comfortable and safe and happy and excited. It's perfect.

They sleep in Thor's bed, sprawled like starfish.

On Friday night Thor comes home with a grocery bag and a grin.

“Oooo, good call,” Loki says, pulling marshmallows, graham crackers, and Hershey bars out of the paper sack. Thor gets the skewers and sets everything by the fireplace. They have salad for dinner as preemptive penance for how many s'mores they're about to eat, then change into ratty t-shirts and flannel pajama bottoms.

Loki does the dishes, cracks the windows, and grabs pillows and blankets for them to lie on; Thor builds the fire.

They warm and wiggle their toes while they toast marshmallows. Dribble chocolate onto their chins and steal it from each other's skin with the pads of their thumbs. When they're stuffed, they fall back onto their pile of pillows and listen to the fire as it hisses and pops. They used to do this with their grandparents. It's been at least ten years since the last time. It seems impossible that they're old enough that ten years can have elapsed since they did anything.

But they'll be twenty-three in a month.

“What should we do for our birthday?” Loki murmurs.

“Ummm... bourbon,” Thor says. “Pecan pie... or maybe cheesecake. Or both. Or a combination of the two.”

“I'll bet I could combine all three.”

“Nice.”

“What else?” Loki asks, and Thor turns over and tugs Loki closer.

“We could sleep in,” Thor whispers. “I think the twenty-first is a Saturday this year.”

“Mmmm.”

“Stay in bed all day.”

“Mmm,” Loki agrees, and leans in to brush his lips against Thor's. “You taste like diabetes,” Loki purrs.

Thor's laughter bounces against Loki's chest until it infects him and they both lie there giggling.

They settle with a hum and Thor runs his fingers through the hair past Loki's left temple while they breathe onto each other's skin. And then Thor presses forward just enough to take Loki's lower lip between his own, squeezing it gently. Loki matches the kiss on Thor's upper lip. They do it again, and urge their bodies closer together. Kiss cheeks and eyelids and jaws. Circle back to the lips and fit them tighter. Suck them between their own until they can feel the slick skin within. Tip their heads and keep nipping. Lick inside to trace teeth, tongues, and the ripples on the palate.

Loki's fingers flex where they grip Thor's waist and Thor throws his leg over Loki's hip and pulls him closer. Their cocks press together through the fabric of their pajamas and they hum and moan and rock their hips.

“Can you come like this?” Thor rumbles, and Loki whines.

“Say come again and I think I will,” Loki whispers.

Thor sucks Loki's tongue into his mouth in a sinful rhythm while his hips keep the same pace. He slides his hand down Loki's back and under his waistband, grabbing a handful of soft flesh and pressing Loki closer.

“Come like this,” Thor whispers, and mouths Loki's neck.

Loki's hips surge and stutter, and he groans low in his throat. And Thor holds him tight and says Oh God. Oh Loki, baby.

“Can you?"  Loki pants, after a moment. “Like this?” he says, and runs his palm along Thor's length, feeling it rear up against his hand the way his own would if he were touching himself.

Thor nods and Loki works slowly, teasing Thor through thin flannel, while Thor pulls Loki in for more kisses.

Loki finds Thor's need endearing. The animality. The voluntary helplessness as Thor puts his pleasure in Loki's keeping.

“Are you all wet in there?” Thor murmurs, and Loki nods and hums.

“Dripping,” Loki whispers, stroking Thor harder. “I can feel come running down over my hip right now. I think you should have to wash me. You got me all dirty.”

“I will,” Thor pants.

“With your tongue,” Loki breathes, and Thor swears and bucks.

Loki can feel Thor's cock pumping against his palm.

Afterward, they sag down into the blankets, sweaty and disheveled.

The fire is out, but the coals are still flickering.

They fall asleep for over an hour and when they wake up they curse and whimper because their cocks are glued to their pajamas with dried come. They peel the fabric away cautiously and stagger into the kitchen to down glass after glass of cold water. Thor throws a little water on the fire to be sure it's out and they limp upstairs.

Loki is in the hall, stuffing his pajamas down the laundry chute, half wishing he could preserve them somehow, because they smell like a bonfire and bear the battle scars of his fledgling sexuality. And then Thor is behind him, spinning Loki around and backing him up against the wall before dropping to his knees.

Loki runs his fingers through Thor's hair, wide-eyed, wondering if this is what he thinks it is.

And it is.

Thor laps at a shiny spot near the edge of Loki's hip until the skin beneath his tongue feels smooth. Then he does the mess at the base of Loki's belly before taking Loki's cock carefully in his mouth and sucking the sensitive skin clean while it swells between his lips.

Thor looks up and raises an eyebrow.

Loki nods rapidly.

Thor hums and keeps sucking. He sees the tight curls of shiny black hair at the base of Loki's cock. A dense thicket so unlike the sparse loops of blond that look to have grown bored and wandered up Thor's belly to peer in his navel. Loki hasn't done anything to his hair – no trimming or shaving. Thor can see the tapered tips of the strands as his face draws near them on every down-stroke. Smell the salt of Loki's sweat. Taste it. See the blood vessels, big and small, that lie beneath the thin layer of skin that's sliding between his lips. He can hear Loki's breath going ragged above him. Feel Loki's ass flexing under his fingers. And then Loki's hands are squeezing Thor's shoulders.

“I'm close,” Loki whispers, words threading through Thor's hair.

Thor nods and hums a happy noise around Loki's skin.

“Thor,” Loki warns, and Thor hums again and squeezes Loki's behind, pressing Loki's hips forward and his cock further down Thor's throat.

Loki jerks and doubles over, gasping and filling Thor's mouth with semen.

Thor pulls off carefully and swallows it down, catching a stray drop with his fingertip pushing it back up past his lips before hopping up to his feet.

They brush their teeth while they wait for the hot water to make it up the pipes from the heater in the basement.

Loki looks drowsy. Thor hastens him through his bathing so he doesn't fall asleep standing up.

They collapse in Loki's bed, bodies tangled together, warm and boneless. Loki is making a valiant effort to remain awake. He keeps shaking himself and shifting and plying Thor with soft kisses. He's trying to pull Thor closer in some impossible way. Sliding his leg over Thor's hip, pressing in at the center of Thor's back, and sucking on his neck. But Loki's eyelids pull him under before he can find a satisfactory solution.

When Thor wakes, he sees his brother staring at the ceiling and chewing on his cuticles. Nervous habit from adolescence. Loki is worried about something, but he doesn't feel threatened. If he were really upset he'd be clenching his jaw.

Thor rolls over and pulls Loki closer.

“They're going to be bloody soon if you don't stop,” Thor murmurs. “What's the matter?”

It's silent for over a minute before Loki speaks.

“I don't like anal,” Loki says, not quite a whisper, but close.

“Me neither,” Thor answers, shrugging, and Loki's eyebrows ascend.

“Have you tried it?” Loki asks.

“Do you actually want to hear about it? Talking about your ex is usually considered bad form, especially in bed.”

“It's okay,” Loki says, smiling softly and nodding in encouragement.

“So, we were curious,” Thor begins. “And we did our research and got a bunch of lube and everything. And we'd been making out and fooling around and we were both into it. He was on his back with his knees up and I was rubbing his hole, and he was really liking that. And then he said, 'ready,' so I slid my finger into him...” Thor starts giggling. “And he made this face that, to this day, I wish I had a picture of.”

Loki snorts and Thor keeps giggling.

“And I asked if he wanted me to stop and he said, 'No, let me get used to it,' but he was still making this face - like, nostrils flared, eyebrows twisted, lip kind of curled. He looked like he was disappointed in our entire species,” Thor says, and the brothers laugh: Loki can picture Steve's face in photographic detail. “And he asked me to move my finger a little, so I did, but he was still making the face, and then he just shook his head and asked if I wanted to try it.”

“And you couldn't resist,” Loki predicts.

“I had to know why he was making that face,” Thor says. “So we switched... and then I made the face.”

They laugh and jostle each other and then lie there, smiling.

“I fingered myself,” Loki says, panting. “Plenty of lube. Totally turned on. Ready to love it. But it just felt like my asshole was malfunctioning. And my erection was all, 'Fuck this – you're on your own.' And, for hours afterward, I thought my anus was on backward and hot water was going to gush out my butt.”

Thor cackles madly and Loki starts giggling again.

“Exactly,” Thor chuckles, panting and drying his eyes. “And then there's the mess,” Thor sighs, and Loki shudders and nods in his arms. “And the smell. And if you want to fix that, then you have to fleet. And I'll be damned if I'm going to give myself an enema that it isn't medically necessary.”

“Right?!” Loki laughs and then settles and sobers. “And it was so disappointing,” Loki murmurs. “I really wanted to be able to have someone inside me like that. And to enjoy it.”

Thor nods and pulls Loki flush against him.

“Oral sex is penetrative,” Thor murmurs, brushing the tips of their noses together. “Deep kissing is penetrative. Frottage is great - you can spoon or be belly to belly... or cock to cock. Rimming is incredible.”

Loki leans back slightly and looks skeptical, raising one eyebrow in disbelief.

“Trust me,” Thor says. “Just the outside, right after the shower. Or even in the shower. It blew my mind. I came after six strokes.”

“Fuck,” Loki whispers.

“Yeah,” Thor laughs. “And, when you're giving, it tastes kind of musky and metallic... it's actually really hot. Or you can just use mint lube and it's like you're brushing your teeth.”

Loki giggles at this and Thor kisses him.

“And I've always thought handjobs are really underrated,” Thor murmurs. “They're fucking amazing. You can watch your partner's face, spoon, sit, stand, kiss – you name it. And it's so similar to the way you touch yourself that it makes you think of masturbating, which makes you feel really... exposed...”

Loki hums and nods.

“Rubbing your cock last night... the way it bobbed up under my hand,” Loki whispers, and Thor kisses him again and then tucks his face into Loki's neck.

“Felt so good, Loki,” Thor says, and they lose themselves to kisses for a while.

“What's your favorite thing to do?” Loki asks, when they come up for air, and Thor mulls it over for a minute.

“Depends,” Thor says. “Sixty-nine makes me crazy. It's like sexual sensory overload. It's so hot I get halfway there just thinking about it.”

Loki can feel Thor's erection twitching and leaking against his hip in demonstration of this fact.

“But that means it's over pretty fast,” Thor admits. “If I want it to last, I like to do this,” Thor says, and reaches between them to push his erection down through Loki's legs.

It runs across the bottom of Loki's balls, his perineum, and his hole, and spans the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. And Thor's heart is pressed against Loki's own. And Thor is kissing him softly. And Loki can imagine spending days like this. Lifetimes.

Loki hums into their kiss and they lie still like that, pressing their erections into soft skin and bathing in warmth and nearness. 

“What do you like?” Thor says, and Loki shrugs.

“I could only give myself handjobs,” Loki says. “I liked what we did last night - all of it. And I like this.”

“Keep me posted, 'kay?” Thor says, and Loki nods.

They snake their arms around each other and tighten them. Open their mouths wide as they fit them together. Loki can feel a drop of precome on the back of his thigh and Thor can feel more than just a drop on his belly.

“Unfortunately,” Thor sighs, “My cock likes to float around in front of me all morning playing astronaut, and if I actually try to come, it's a no-go.”

“Mine too,” Loki groans.

“Hungry?” Thor asks, and Loki nods.

They indulge in an extended and elaborate version of their usual routine. Loki makes coffee, fruit salad, and toast and plays dj. This morning it's the acoustic versions of tracks from Psychocandy. Cut Dead gets three spins. Thor makes bacon and then fries eggs and hash browns in the drippings.

They read the news while they eat and then pile onto the couch to watch Adventure Time until they've digested their feast. After that they sit on the bench on the back porch and watch the rain.

Loki likes the cold wet air of autumn. How it seems to lap at his skin. How the fog softens the black lines of bare branches and erases the rest of the world. How the scent of dead leaves becomes almost like a flavor in the air – thick enough to taste.

Thor likes to watch Loki smile at the hazy grey sky and to see his hair curl up in the humidity.

Loki hasn't stopped smiling since they got out of bed, and it makes Thor feel like he could fly. Like he's finally done something worthwhile and he has a right to be proud.

Loki's patience only lasts twenty minutes before he's turning back into the house, climbing the wide creaky stairs, pulling off his jeans and hoodie, throwing them on the floor, and then hopping into Thor's bed. He motions for Thor to lie in the center and Thor is happy to comply; he strips and tosses himself onto the mattress.

Loki lays himself on top of Thor and they press kisses to each other's cheeks and eyelids. Nibble earlobes that are still chilly and pink from their time outside. Rub the cold tips of their noses together.

When Loki starts kissing his way down Thor's body Thor makes a high-pitched sound in the back of his throat, like a hinge squeaking, and Loki shivers. He doesn't know exactly what to do, but knowing that Thor is already going to pieces gives his confidence a welcome boost.

When Loki gets to Thor's hips he pauses. Thor is big. Loki is concerned that he won't be able to fit much of Thor's cock in his mouth.

“Little help,” Loki whispers, and Thor smiles at him.

“Kissing is good,” Thor says. “Licking is really good. Use your hand on the shaft. If you want to put the head in your mouth, you can, but you don't have to. You're supposed to enjoy it too, so it's whatever you like. If you straddle my thighs and hold yourself up on your left arm, it'll put your head in the best spot for avoiding your gag reflex.”

Loki nods and settles in. He uses his lips to tease Thor's foreskin down and holds it in place with his hand. The skin is so smooth; it looks impossibly fragile. Loki presses soft lingering kisses to all of it and feels it press back against his lips as though asking for more. He traces the crown with the tip of his tongue and teases the frenulum. Thor's sighs tell Loki that he's doing well.

He sees a tiny bead of precome gathering at the tip and licks it off, savoring this taste from within his brother's body. He thinks of ants milking aphids.

He drags his tongue along the ridge at the base of Thor's cock, from fur to slit, and Thor swears softly above him.

He does it again.

Thor moans.

He paints all of Thor's prick like this, until the whole gorgeous length of it is slick and shining with spit and Loki's mouth is watering at this feast of firm flesh that's been set before him. Thor's face and chest are flushed and his bright eyes are dark with lust. His breast is rising and falling swiftly, waving the pink peaks of his nipples in the air and making Loki wish he could fuck them somehow.

Loki drops his head to press a wet kiss to the crown of Thor's cock and then sinks as far as he's able, which is farther than he's expecting. He makes up the difference with his fist, which lets him give Thor a firm grip. His mouth is still watering around Thor's cock - some strange appetite being stoked, sending little streams of saliva out the corners of his lips and easing the way for his hand.

Thor groans. Loki can hear his brother's breaths getting shorter and feel the legs beneath him flexing.

He sucks a little harder and makes sure to work his tongue against the head of Thor's cock with each pass.

“If you don't want me to come in your mouth, you should pull off now and finish me with your hand,” Thor gasps. “Otherwise, keep doing what you're doing.”

Loki keeps doing it until he feels Thor's hips lift that last little bit and hears a low groan escape from Thor's lips.

Loki holds still, leaving his fist around the shaft and his mouth on the head until Thor's balls stop pumping and there's no more semen spurting onto his tongue.

The taste is familiar. A lot like his own come. They eat the same things every day, so that's no surprise.

Loki swallows it and smiles.

Thor holds his arms out and flutters his fingers and Loki shuffles up the bed and flops down beside him to tuck himself under Thor's arm, tight against his side.

Thor's grin could shame the sun.

The night before, Thor had wanted to rush. Some would say you should take it slow with an inexperienced partner, but Thor subscribes to the rip-it-off-like-a-band-aid method of doing awkward things. He knows sex is beautiful and meaningful and raw, and a profound way to communicate with another person. He also knows it's a cosmic joke where people tickle each other's genitals until they spray smelly fluids all over the place. It would be a mistake to take it too seriously. And Loki was always one to over-think a thing. So Thor hurried him through it, shoving all the bullshit virgin-baggage out the door with a frot on the living room floor and a blowjob in the hall.

And they were lovely.

And now he can take his time.

Thor wants Loki to fuck his thighs while they lie face to face, but his cock is still too sensitive to have Loki's belly rubbing against it, so he'll have to save that for later.

He turns and presses increasingly ardent kisses onto – and into - Loki's lips, tasting himself on Loki's tongue. Then he tips Loki onto his back and crawls away to grab lube and tissues from his nightstand, setting them at Loki's hip and then stretching out over his thin body. Thor smiles into their kiss and Loki laughs.

“What?” Thor murmurs.

“You're beaming.”

Thor bites him, but then soothes the spot with his lips before nipping and kissing his way south. He lingers at Loki's nipples, finding them pink and peaked, seeming to lean up to meet his mouth. Thor's own nipples aren't very responsive. Loki's are. Thor grazes them with the tip of his tongue, tickling and teasing, until Loki arches his back to push his chest up into Thor's mouth and then Thor sucks and nibbles them properly. Loki's whole body seems to be buzzing. He's shaking very faintly. Thor stops tormenting Loki's nipples and presses soft lingering kisses to the arch of his ribcage and then down the center of his abdomen. When he gets to the peaks of Loki's hips, Thor has a vague desire to cry. The bones and muscles show so plainly. Strong and healthy, but soft and secret too. Vulnerable. It's like seeing something rare and wild. Endangered. And the skin is fair and fine. And fragile - slightly crepey as it nears the thighs.

Loki's belly is rising with his breaths. Thor wants to cut his own heart out of his chest and set it on his brother's sternum. It would be the most apt gesture for the way he feels about the being beneath him.

He kisses the head of Loki's cock and the skin slips against his lips when Loki twitches. Thor grabs the lube and squirts a generous portion into his mouth to warm it before gliding his lips down Loki's prick and slicking him with one long slide of skin.

Loki makes a wonderful little noise of pleasure and surprise and then Thor sits up and settles in astride Loki's lap. He strokes Loki's cock with his right hand and caresses his legs with the left. He teases the edges of Loki's balls. Roughs up the fur on his crotch. Squeezes his thigh fondly.

The feeling is almost bewildering to Loki. Foreign and familiar all at once. Backward. Thor's thumb is in a better position to tease the sensitive V of skin below his slit. Thor's hand isn't as smooth as Loki's, but his grip is softer. The reversal and juxtaposition are delicious.

And Thor has him pinned like a butterfly, spread out on the bed under bright blues eyes while his wrist works in a swift rhythm and Loki's prick swells almost to bursting beneath his fingers.

Loki stares up at his brother; biting his lip, blond hair swaying at his cheeks, blushing and blinking back at him.

Thor is watching every motion of his arm play out on Loki's face. Ripples after a skipped stone.

Loki feels electric.

Alight.

The tension in him heightens, nerves humming at pitch that would set dogs howling. His body feels like it's made of the madly beating wings of bumble bees.

And then everything shatters and he shouts, sending little jets of semen all the way up to his neck while Thor whispers his name over and over.

Thor rakes leaves all afternoon while Loki paints and makes chili. When he's finished outside, Thor stops in the kitchen before he goes upstairs to change so that Loki can grab a handful of his sweatshirt and bury his nose in it, breathing it in.

It's a habit that started in high school. The house would get stuffy in the winter with the furnace on and everything closed up and curtained against the cold. Loki loved the scents of snow and ice and tree bark and longed to open the windows. Thor would come in from some chore – shoveling the driveway, feeding the horses,  jogging - and Loki would keep an ear cocked for Thor's footsteps on the stair and then ambush him in the hall. After a week of this, if Loki wasn't standing there, waiting, Thor would rap on his door and say, “Smellegram.” And Loki would open it and Thor would offer his shoulder and Loki would huff Thor's shirt and say, “Mmmmm... you smell outsidey,” and then nod and go back into his room. And, though Thor felt like an odd sort of mail carrier/weather forecaster hybrid, he liked it. Such an easy gift to give; a perfume that could never be bottled. And something about the way Loki expected it made Thor feel happy. Wanted.

Loki doesn't have to hide the depth of his enthusiasm anymore. He can be greedy and demand that Thor take the shirt off and give it to him so he can stuff his face in it and breathe in the scents of autumn and Thor's skin. He makes for Thor's hair next, taking his brother by the jaw and manhandling him into a convenient position. The cold clings to the strands of blond and the scent is mingled with salt, wind, and something else that is entirely Thor.

Dinner is cozy. They tangle their legs together under the table and eat reasonable portions so that they'll have leftovers... and so their bellies won't be too full for whatever they get up to after they eat.

They turn off all the lights and sit on the steps on the back porch to stare at the stars for half an hour. They sky is clear. It's going to get cold tonight.

“Thanks for cooking,” Thor says, rubbing Loki's back. “It was good.”

“Thanks for hunting and butchering.”

“Any time,” Thor laughs.

They go inside to put the chili away and clean up, then head upstairs to brush their teeth. Loki goes to turn on the shower, but Thor stops him.

“After,” Thor says.

Thor grabs a towel and goes to his room. He turns down the blankets and lays the towel across the center of the mattress, sets lube and tissues on the pillows, then takes off his clothes and climbs into bed. Loki undresses and joins him, pulling the sheet up over them.

Thor tugs Loki in tight and Loki can feel the warmth of Thor's skin all up his front. They're not hard yet, so their cocks are just a fleshy jumble between their hips, squashed together all warm and defenseless. Thor has his forearm pressed to Loki's back, keeping him close, and he's tracing Loki's face with the tip of his nose. Loki closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy it. At some point Thor switched and started dragging his lips over Loki's features. They're slightly chapped and the way they catch on Loki's skin is pleasant for both of them. And then the drag turns into tiny kisses, and Loki's cheeks pull up in a smile. Thor can feel Loki's eyebrows and lashes against his lips, like tiny animals. He can see Loki's curls falling over his forehead. He wants to see them hanging down around Loki's face, or stuck to it with sweat.

He kisses Loki's temple and mouths the edge of his jaw before following it to the chin and then up to two red lips.

He nips them with slow kisses that grow wetter and deeper with each press, and then he's tugging them with his teeth and sucking them to sooth the burn. Loki is leaning heavily on Thor and their cocks are filling with blood between them. Loki sucks Thor's tongue into his mouth and slides his hand from Thor's neck to his tailbone before grabbing his ass and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

Thor tosses the sheet down and reaches up for the lube.

Loki laughs at how much Thor uses.

“You can never have too much,” Thor says, spreading it over their thighs, bellies, cocks, balls, and taints.

Loki stops laughing and closes his eyes to better feel Thor's fingertips as they carefully paint his skin. He spreads his legs to grant his brother better access and the action only heightens his arousal: he is rendering himself more vulnerable and drawing attention to his weakness. He supposes he should be feeling some distressing cognitive dissonance, but all he can feel are the pads of Thor's long fingers, the twitching of his own cock, and the warmth coiling low in his belly.

Thor reaches back to wipe his hand on the edge of the towel and leans in to kiss Loki again.

Their cocks glide together between them and they both hum.

And then Thor rolls away onto his back with his eyes locked on Loki's all the while, and Loki follows as if pulled by unseen threads. He settles himself atop his brother, straddling his legs and dipping down to kiss him. Thor reaches between them to press Loki's cock through his thighs and Loki lowers his hips, sliding into the slippery passage of flesh Thor has made for him.

Thor is quite fuzzy on his forearms and below the waist. Loki quirks his lips at how it feels as if Thor's taint and inner thighs are scrubbing his prick.

“What?” Thor asks.

“You're a bit of a bear,” Loki chuckles, and Thor shakes with laughter beneath him.

Thor runs his hands over Loki's back, pressing him down and urging Loki to relax into him, then leaning up to lick into his mouth. He cups Loki's buttocks and then gives them a deep squeeze.

“Fuck me,” Thor whispers, and Loki nods.

Loki's thrusts start out shallow and slow, because he's concerned he'll hurt Thor's cock. But, as he goes on and grows more desperate, he finds that Thor is right there with him, urging Loki to a quicker pace with hands that are still possessively cupping his behind. Loki can feel Thor's thighs tensing between his own as Thor's kisses grow hungry and unfocused. And then Thor's eyes are screwed shut and his head is straining back and his whole body is clenching beneath Loki. Loki urges himself on and stops trying to hold off his own orgasm.

“Almost there,” Loki whispers.

“Say when,” Thor breathes.

Loki is gasping short breaths out against Thor's lips and grimacing. His cock feels heavy, hard, and hot, and like it will never cease to be those things, as though that is the cost of his proximity to Thor: to ache with want while having.

But it's an unfounded fear.

“I'm gonna come,” Loki pants, and Thor nods. “Thor,” Loki breathes, and drives his hips down, pumping semen out over the base of Thor's ass and onto the bed below.

And then Thor's body bends and Loki can feel the motions of Thor's balls against his belly, twitching as they urge Thor's come out onto the sweat-soaked skin of their stomachs.

They lie there, heaving shaky breaths and slowly descending from their little peak of bliss, failing to fend off sleep.

They wake up less than five minutes later and Thor's hand fumbles blindly above him until it finds the tissues he set on the pillow.

They throw the towel they soaked down the chute and step into the shower.

It's a marvelous thing.

When their grandparents updated this bathroom, their grandpa made the shower bigger, put a light in the ceiling, added a detachable shower head, and made sure the lip at the entry was low, knowing it would make life easier when they got old and stiff and tried to climb in.

There's plenty of room for Thor and Loki both, which can't be said of many showers. But there's no soaking in a bathtub for an hour in the evening, which Loki secretly misses.

They settle in Loki's bed, cuddled up together with heavy eyelids and clumsy limbs.

“Was that position good?” Thor asks, lazily swirling a finger around Loki's navel.

“Perfect,” Loki whispers, and kisses him.

“Are you coming with me on Thursday?” Thor asks, and Loki sighs.

Thanksgiving.

Loki's excited for the long weekend – he's off Wednesday through Sunday - but he would rather spend it here with Thor, making up for lost time.

“I don't know yet,” Loki murmurs, and then changes the subject. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“The floor is lava until sunset,” Thor says. “Only the beds and bathroom are safe... and the one of us who's walking has sixty seconds to get to a safe spot. The other one has to be in bed watching the clock and calling out the countdown.”

Loki grins and nods.

In the morning Loki staggers off to pee and startles when Thor shouts, “Lava!"

Loki is grateful that they both pee sitting down, otherwise he would have sprayed the bathroom when Thor spooked him.

Loki runs back to bed and then it's Thor's turn.

After that they lie there dozing and squeezing each other's butts for an hour.

“I'm hungry,” Loki complains.

Thor sets a timer on his phone and hands it to his brother.

“Ready?” Loki asks, and Thor nods. “Go!”

Thor sprints out into the hall and thunders down the stairs. Loki can hear cupboards opening and cups clinking.

“Thirty-five,” Loki calls.

He hears the glug glug glug of liquid pouring, the squishy sound of the fridge shutting, plastic crinkling, and then Thor's footsteps carefully ascending the stairs.

“Five.”

“What?!” Thor shouts.

Thor scurries in and frantically sets the bowl of apples, a bag of trail mix, and huge glass of cider on the nightstand before jumping into bed.

Loki holds up the phone and Thor sees that there are still fifteen seconds to spare.

“That's more like it,” Thor says.

“Don't looks so smug,” Loki scolds, and picks m&ms out of the trail mix while Thor eats a honeycrisp.

Loki silently demands a bite, sitting there with his mouth open until Thor stuffs his apple into it.

They stretch out and relax. Loki takes a closer look at his brother's body. Thor's hands and forearms are rough from hard work. It makes them look older than the rest of him. He has shapely legs. His calves are so curvy they look fake. The muscles on his arms and chest are absurd, and the way he broadens so abruptly above the waist makes Loki think of inflation theory. Loki spreads Thor's legs and pets his balls softly. He lets himself look closely at Thor's hole. Nestled in fur. It's reassuring. Loki knows he has some hair back there and he has no interest in plucking, shaving, waxing, or trimming it. Thor seems to be of the same opinion.

Thor's cock is taking an interest in these proceedings, slowly swelling on his belly, peeking out of his foreskin. The head is so shiny and smooth. It has always made Loki feel as if he's looking at an internal organ, and now it makes him feel weirdly protective.

“Is this morning-wood?” Loki asks.

“No. Is yours?”

“No.”

“Put your hips up here,” Thor says, patting the spot beside his own shoulders.

Loki does, and Thor scoots down the bed a bit and rolls onto his side.

And Thor was right. Loki's cock is hard seconds later. He can feel Thor's breath on his hips. He can see Thor's delicious prick, long, thick, and pink, bobbing before his lips. Thor's hand is rubbing his thighs and smoothing over his ass. Cupping and lightly scratching his balls. Pulling his foreskin back. And then Thor is flicking his tongue over the tip. Loki kisses Thor's cock and laps at the crown before taking him in as far as he can manage. He feels Thor's pleased hum buzzing around his own body. Loki hums at the vibrations in turn. Thor moans and thrusts his hips.

A feedback loop.

They come within two minutes. Loki's orgasm sets off Thor's.

Afterward they roll onto their backs, panting and squeezing each other's hands.

They take turns running to the bathroom to wash up, then diving back into Loki's bed to kiss and caress the rest of the sunlight away before they drag themselves downstairs for dinner.

  
  


7 Tradition

 

They spend Monday evening at the Sephora in Lexington, getting help finding concealers that match their necks. They don't have any hickeys to cover yet, but they want to be ready for when it happens... which ends up being mere hours later. They get carried away while they're making out on the back porch, wrapped in a blanket and watching stars fall.

On Wednesday night Thor is baking pumpkin pies to bring to his parents' for dinner the next day. Loki is making cranberry sauce, though he still hasn't decided if he'll actually attend.

The house smells delicious when they go to bed. Familiar. The way it used to smell when they had Thanksgiving dinner here with their grandparents.

Loki is lying awake, worrying, twisting his wet hair between his fingers.

“He hasn't apologized,” Loki says.

“Don't hold your breath, sweetheart,” Thor sighs. “I don't think I've ever heard him apologize. At least not for anything big. If he accidentally bumps into you in the kitchen he'll say sorry or excuse me... but... I don't think he even believes he did anything wrong.”

“He never apologized to Mom, either,” Loki says, shaking his head. “I asked.”

“Come to dinner for her,” Thor says. “She misses you.”

“She sees me all the time.”

“Not at home.”

Loki sighs.

“I'll think about it.”

“Think fast,” Thor says, and kisses Loki's lips in a soft goodnight.

In the morning, Thor wakes Loki up by crawling under the covers and taking his cock in his mouth. He gets to feel the flesh swelling against his tongue. The transformation is incredible. Thor tries to imagine what it would be like if the rest of the body could more than double its size with such ease.

“I can't come. It's still too early,” Loki sighs.

“Yeah, but you were going to get an erection anyway,” Thor says, voice muffled by blankets. “No harm no foul.”

Loki snorts and kicks him, but lets himself enjoy the attentions of Thor's tongue for ten more minutes.

Thor takes a quick shower to freshen up and set his hair back in order, because he slept on it funny and then mussed it up under the quilts. Normally he just ties it back in a bun, but his Mom likes it when he wears it down, and he likes it when she plays with his hair and fusses over him, so down it is.

He's only just gotten his hair wet when the curtain slides over and his brother slips in beside him.

“Hey,” Thor says, and steps aside To let Loki under the spray.

Loki has a comb in his hand. His hair has grown longer these last few months. Lately, when he wants to fix his curls, he puts a part in them while he's in the shower and then lets the water run over the ends. Afterward, he bends at the waist and shakes his head, tossing the water from his ringlets and cupping them up toward his scalp. Then he lets them air dry and they're perfect. He doesn't move much in his sleep, so they're still lovely in the morning... unless Thor has interfered with them, which is not unheard of.

They shave and then take turns washing each other. They put on nice clothes. It'll be warm at the house. Thor has gotten used to Loki's sixty-five degree lifestyle. Seventy-two is going to feel sweltering.

Loki walks in a circle around Thor, looking him up and down. Thor is in grey wool trousers and a button-down shirt that's a deep, intense blue. Sapphire.

“You should dress like this all the time,” Loki murmurs.

“You wanna pay my dry cleaning bill?”

“Nope,” Loki says, snapping out of it.

Loki is in charcoal trousers and a dark purple shirt.

Thor wants to ask his brother if he's doing a Sherlock cosplay, but then Loki would stomp off and change his clothes, and that would be a shame. With the pale skin, dark curls, sharp cheekbones, and eerie blue-grey-green eyes, the likeness is a good one.

They pack up their pies and cranberry sauce and head over to their parents'.

Loki seems calm. Thor hopes that bodes well.

“We both want to buy each other out,” Loki says.

“What?” Thor asks, bewildered behind the wheel.

“Alibi,” Loki clarifies. “If anyone ever wants to know why we're living together and they really start to pry, say we both want the house, but neither of us has enough money yet, so we're stuck.”

“Mmm,” Thor nods, smiling.

They're relieved to see Freyr's truck already in the driveway.

It's always helpful to have someone outside the immediate family present. It tends to have a pacifying effect on Odin.

Their mother greets them at the door, divesting them of their dishes and ushering them into the kitchen for cocktails. Freyr is making Old-fashioneds and Frigga's cheeks are already rosy with them.

They can see their father out on the patio, fussing with the turkey. He always does it on the grill. Frigga likes that it keeps him out of her hair and frees up the oven. She's doing yams with marshmallows, most of which will be eaten by Loki. Potatoes are boiling on the stove. Thor is always tasked with mashing them. Green bean casserole is waiting for its turn in the oven. Football is on.

Same as ever.

Odin comes in from his basting and shakes their hands.

“Boys, how are you?” he says.

“Well, thanks,” they chime.

“How was the golf season?” Loki tries.

“Rubbish,” Odin laughs. “It rained every time I tried to go. Got to the point that I could comfortably predict the weather.”

“Did the roof leak at all?” Freyr asks.

“No,” Loki says, and they chat about maintaining old houses.

“Can you chop wood in those clothes?” Odin asks Thor, and Thor nods and heads out back to the stump to split some logs while Odin carries in the pieces and starts the fire.

Loki and Frigga park themselves at the dining table to sip their drinks. The cat – a Russian Blue they named Beast – claims Loki's lap.

They talk about Loki's paintings, and whether he might try to show them. That Thor has been after him to submit them to exhibitions that are calling for entries, too.

About who has horses that they dream of spiriting away in the night.

About what to get Thor for Christmas.

Loki has missed this.

“Have they had their holiday treat?” Loki asks, and he means the horses.

“No. It's in the crisper,” Frigga says.

“Should I give them their dinner, too?”

“Please,” she says.

He grabs the bag of carrots from the fridge and when he turns, Frigga stops him to push a ringlet away from his eye.

“Your hair always made me want to put Thor's in curlers,” she sighs.

Loki decides that, for Christmas, his mother will be getting photographs of Thor with his hair in curls.

Loki heads out to the barn.

Thor watches him go, admiring his tall dark figure as it cuts through the slanting light.

Odin watches Thor.

When Loki gets back, he drops down beside Freyr on the couch and they talk horses.

Thor is in the kitchen sneaking a dinner roll. Frigga twists and arranges Thor's hair, pursing her lips and cocking her head.

“What are you scheming?” Thor asks her.

“Things that would make you squirm,” she says, and he snorts and freshens her drink before taking the chair opposite Odin.

Thor squints at his brother through the hazy mix of cool light that's still coming in the windows and the warm glow of the flickering fire.

When there's a pause in the conversation, Thor gets up and leans in, pulling little bits of something off of the side of Loki's face.

“What is it?” Loki asks, peering at the pieces in Thor's palm.

Thor stares a moments and rolls the things between his fingers.

“Carrot,” Thor says, and Loki laughs.

“Storm kissed me after she got her treat,” Loki explains, and they both grin.

Thor sinks down into the narrow space on the sofa beside his brother and joins him in petting Beast, who has occupied Loki's lap again. Their fingers brush and criss-cross as they knead the purring ball of fur until his bones seem to have dissolved.

Thor watches Loki's cheeks work as he talks, enjoying seeing his brother at this odd angle, in the colorful light, talking more formally and with more animation than he might if it were just the two of them at home on the couch in their pajamas.

Odin is still watching Thor.

He's accustomed to seeing Loki watch Thor, and that always made sense to him: Thor has long drawn the eyes of everyone in the room. But he's never seen Thor watch Loki like this before. He doesn't know why the reversal unnerves him. Perhaps because they're not children anymore. And the way Thor broke when Loki left was disturbing to Odin. He worries Thor is setting himself up for another fall.

Frigga calls Thor over to mash potatoes and Odin goes outside to get the bird so it will have time to rest before Thor carves it. The oven beeps for the green beans not long after.

Dinner is spent obsessing about food. Restaurants and bakery recommendations are batted back and forth. Recipes even Odin can't bungle are traded.

Thor eats like an army.

Loki has seconds of turkey and stuffing and thirds of the yams.

After dinner the boys do the dishes and then lean against the counter, chatting together, while the grown ups talk at the table. Thor starts giggling and then reaches to pull more little bits of carrot off of his brother: they're in his curls. Odin comes over to get fresh highball glasses from the cupboard behind them and they part like a curtain to let him through, pausing mid sentence until Odin is finished and then sliding back together, shoulders touching, and resuming their conversation exactly where it left off.

“What's gotten into you two? You even smell alike,” Odin grumbles, but Loki is the only one he's eying with suspicion.

“We're twins,” Loki answers instantly, because it's second nature, and because it's true.

Odin slaps him for it.

Not hard, but swift and unexpected, and anyway it's not a question of degree; a hit is a hit.

Loki opens his mouth to say something, but stops, sending his left arm flying out to halt Thor, who was about to lunge forward and do something to their father that both boys would have found viscerally satisfying, but that would have been distressing to their mother.

Thor doesn't fight past Loki's arm, though he could do so easily.

“You can't have it both ways,” Loki tells Odin, before taking Thor's elbow, turning on his heel and going to their mom.

“Has he ever hit you?” Loki asks, and he can hear an outraged noise behind him from Odin, but he doesn't care.

“No,” she says.

“If he ever does, or if you even think he might, you tell us,” Loki says, and she nods and wraps her arms around him and he squeezes her tight and kisses her cheek. Thor gives her more of the same.

“Dinner was amazing, Mom,” Loki smiles. “Thank you.”

They shake Freyr's hand and then they're off.

Loki drives. Thor is shaking.

Loki hangs their coats and pours them a couple fingers of bourbon to share and they sit on the back steps and let the cold night air soothe their burning cheeks and stinging eyes. Loki can still feel Thor trembling against his side.

“I think you need to sprint two miles or have a good cry,” Loki says, squeezing Thor's shoulder. “And the latter might actually be better for you.”

Thor nods and they finish their drink.

They lock the house and head upstairs, brushing their teeth and setting their trousers aside to take to the dry cleaners.

Thor doesn't break down until they get in the shower, and Loki wonders if this is something Thor has done before. If this is the space in which he feels safest when he needs to go to pieces. Loki hopes it's a novel experience for his brother, but gets a sinking feeling.

Thor wanted things to go well with Odin. And they'd made it so far through the day without incident. He had allowed himself to hope.

Loki had no such hopes, and is therefore far less disappointed.

Loki holds his brother's body as it's wracked by sobs and then helps him hurry through his bathing when they start to run out of hot water.

Thor wants to sleep in Loki's bed, small, soft, and snug, so they do. He keeps sniffling into Loki's shoulder while Loki pets his hair and whispers soothing nonsense.

It makes Loki feel old.

And vast.

This love of his is the stuff of myths, legends, fairy tales, and Shakespeare.

Forbidden.

Relentless.

Impossible.

Perfect.

Beautiful.

And hard won.

It will take all of death's strength to pry it from Loki's hands when his time comes.

Loki rolls toward Thor and pulls him close, tangling their legs together and rubbing Thor's back until his breathing calms, then kissing his cheek and murmuring I love yous as they fall asleep.

When Thor wakes in the middle of the night, the bed is cold and empty beside him.

He's down the stairs and out the front door, naked and freezing, before he can even speak.

But both of their cars are still in the driveway.

Thor stands, gasping. His breaths puff up in front of his face as little silver clouds that show faintly in the starlight.

He sprints around the house and finds his brother on the steps of the back porch, wrapped in an old blanket.

Loki laughs softly at the absurd sight of his brother.

“If Zeus were still alive he'd be slaughtering everyone who so much as looked at you,” Loki says. “I'd be dead a thousand times over.”

“If Zeus were still alive,” Thor laughs, “He'd want you.”

Loki opens his left arm so that Thor can sit on the blanket with him and they huddle together.

“Can't sleep?” Thor asks.

“All the shit I wish I'd said to him keeps running through my head,” Loki sighs. “And I kept twitching with punches I was pretending to throw. Didn't want to wake you up.”

“I thought you nailed it,” Thor says.

“Thanks.”

They wait until Thor is done panting and then stagger back up to bed.

Loki gives his brother a back rub to calm him down and sings Courting Blues until Thor is finally asleep.

It's raining when they wake. Thor still looks tired. His eyes are puffy from tears.

“Does your face hurt?” Thor asks, and his voice is so thick Loki hardly recognizes it.

Loki presses his cheek experimentally.

“No,” Loki answers.

“Do you think Mom's okay?” Thor says.

“I don't know,” Loki murmurs. “I kind of want to kidnap her... But I'm as bad as he is.”

“What?”

“I hit you,” Loki says.

“I would have hit him last night if you hadn't stopped me,” Thor says. “I'm no better. And you and I used to get into it in middle school and high school when we lost our tempers. Usually over nothing.”

“Maybe we should just hide Mom at Freyr's,” Loki sighs, and Thor giggles.

“What?” Loki asks.

“Mom told me they used to beat the shit out of each other in high school, too. Fought all the time. Like maniacs. But they settled down when they went away to college and they've been bffs ever since.”

“So we're all fucked.”

“Basically,” Thor says.

Loki laughs.

“Are you afraid of me?” Thor asks.

“No.”

“I'm not afraid of you either,” Thor soothes. “If that changes, we'll get help, 'kay?”

Loki nods.

They wander downstairs but they have no appetites. They drink a glass of water each and go back to bed where they watch the rain drip down the windowpane and listen to its quiet tapping. Loki spoons close behind his brother and brushes his hands softly over Thor's arm and side. Rubs his belly. Traces his collarbones. Smooths his hair back at his temple. Kisses his neck and shoulder.

They doze for an hour.

When they wake they put on pajamas and go downstairs again. Loki makes lentil soup while Thor reads on the couch and they eat on the back porch, hearing the rain rapping on the roof, rushing down the gutters, and pouring softly out onto the lawn.

“Rain always made me want you twice as hard in high school,” Loki says, and then laughs at himself. “Still does.”

“You can have me.”

Loki knocks their knees together and they sit, grinning.

The chill rouses them and sets them shivering.

They do the dishes and scurry back into bed, bundling up and nuzzling each other until Thor's teeth stop chattering. Loki is giving Thor playful kisses, seeing Thor's smile spread farther across his face with every press of lips and feeling like he's winning some unseen battle. Thor's eyes are bright even in the gloom. Lips full and inviting. Hair falling in a graceful mess around his face.

Loki leans over and fumbles in his drawer until he finds the lube, then warms it in his hand before slicking their cocks, bellies, balls and his own inner thighs. He puts Thor on his back and nudges his legs apart, rests his own knees between them, holds his body up with his elbows, and then catches Thor's cock between his legs. Loki bobs his hips and Thor leans up to kiss him while his hands stroke Loki's back and caress his ass.

Loki can feel Thor reaching behind him and then there's wonderful friction against his anus. Thor is pressing the head of his cock inward so that it drags across Loki's hole. It tickles and soothes in equal measure and sends jolts of pleasure through him with every pass.

Thor is starting to stiffen and he's already holding his breath. Loki keeps bouncing until his brother groans and then Loki feels semen raining down onto his back and his behind. Thor pours more lube into his palm and reaches between them to stroke Loki's cock with his right hand while his left drags callused fingertips through the come on Loki's skin and then rubs it down through the cleft of Loki's ass and swirls it over his hole.

Loki is moaning in a way Thor's never heard before and it sets Thor's face grinning. To see his brother lost in pleasure and wild with lust. Loki's breathy ahh when he comes will linger in Thor's ears all day.

Their mom calls after dinner and asks if she can come over with leftovers tomorrow.

They're glad they have time to clean the house before she sees it. It's not that bad. But there's a lot of hair all over the bathroom. And the mirror in there is covered with blobs of spittle and mystery-white from when they floss their teeth. The kitchen floor needs a scrubbing and they need to vacuum. They hustle around doing it all before bed so they won't be sweaty and grumpy from cleaning tomorrow when she visits.

They're exhausted after their shower, so they sleep in Thor's bed because it gives them the space to stretch out and let their limbs breathe.

In the morning Loki bakes bread so they can have it with dinner. Thor eats half of it before their mom even gets there and Loki has to hide the rest.

She looks at Loki's paintings, both the works in progress and the ones framed on the walls. Loki makes mental notes of the ones she lingers on so he can give them to her later.

They all eat too much again, and Frigga asks Loki read Borges aloud until their stomachs are settled.

Sunday morning Loki pesters Thor about what he wants for breakfast and Thor lists off a thousand things, meaning he has no idea what he wants, so they just have leftovers. Loki paints all day. Thor reads and makes meatloaf.

When they get to Thor's bed their minds are awake but their bodies are languid.

Thor grabs the lube anyway.

Loki is splayed on the mattress and Thor is kissing him all over. Slow lingering presses of lips to unexpected spots: his armpits, the inside of his elbows, the undersides of his wrists, the pads of his fingers, the insteps of his feet, the backs of his knees, and the crests of his hips.

“I want to go down on you,” Thor says, looking up at Loki with darkened eyes.

“Okay,” Loki breathes after a brief pause. “But if you don't like it, just stop. I won't be mad.”

“Baby, I'm gonna like it. If you don't like it, you tell me, and then I stop, 'kay?”

Loki nods. He spreads his legs and pulls up his knees and Thor smiles and kisses the inside of a pale thigh. He kisses the other leg, too, working his way toward his target in easy stages. Kissing a line down Loki's prick. Mouthing his balls gently. Tipping his head to press kisses into the spongy bulge of his perineum. Nipping playfully at the soft flesh in the joint of the thigh. Nibbling the bases of two adorable little buttocks.

The Tocks, Thor thinks, fondly. Definitely capitalized. Accept no substitute.

Loki pulls his knees up higher and spreads his legs wider and Thor's cock throbs in his lap.

Thor keeps kissing his way inward, hearing Loki's breaths grow faster and louder. He drifts up and licks a line down Loki's cock with the tip of his tongue. Over the seam of his balls. Into the cleft of his ass. He doesn't stop until the mattress blocks him.

Loki gasps and jerks and then spreads his legs still wider.

Thor puckers his lips to fit them into the divot of Loki's anus, encircling the wrinkled knot of skin with a soft kiss and listening to Loki's sharp sigh. He kisses Loki's hole again and again while Loki's breath shudders from his lungs.

Then Thor drags the flat of his tongue over it, slowly and firmly, and Loki moans like a thing from a poet's dream.

And now Thor is grinning into Loki's asshole, and nothing has ever made more sense to him.

He hunts around for the lube and then squirts a line of it onto Loki's cock.

“Wanna touch yourself for me?” Thor says, and Loki's fingers appear in front of him.

Thor settles in and starts drawing circles around Loki's hole with the tip of his tongue while Loki strokes himself. Thor switches to licking up and down over the spot rhythmically.

“Oh fuck. Don't stop,” Loki says.

Thor can see Loki's balls drawing up tight and then flexing as Loki comes. Loki's moans bounce off the ceiling and rain back down onto them and Thor wishes he could catch them in a bottle and keep them. He bites Loki's thigh and sits up to take a peek at his face.

“Was that okay?” Thor asks.

“I love you,” Loki pants.

8 Revolution

 

The night before their birthday, Thor takes Loki out for sushi.

Thor drives so that his brother can drink Asahi to his heart's content, which he does.

Loki sings in the car on the way back.

He's doing Physical, but not the sexy Nine Inch Nails version. He's wailing the original Adam Ant rendition, which is purely ridiculous.

They stop at a grocery store to pick up cheesecake ingredients and Thor makes Loki wait in the car because he's getting handsy and still won't stop singing.

When Thor gets out, Loki only sings louder, and Thor can still hear him as he's walking into the building.

When Thor returns, Loki is doing a remarkable impersonation of innocence.

But once they're on the road it starts up again.

“Well I guess it would be nice,” Loki sings, and Thor whines. “If I could touch your body. I know not everybody has got a body like you...”

Loki claps his hands and slaps his thighs to provide the beat. Thor tries to keep a straight face while he threatens to make Loki walk home.

When he's finished with Faith, there's blissful silence, and Thor lets out a sigh of relief.

Then Loki starts in with West End Girls.

At home Loki dances and sings Keep Fallin'. Thor puts the groceries away and then wrestles his brother to the kitchen floor, tugs down his jeans, and sucks his cock until Loki is moaning.

Loki lies there, panting and struggling to remain awake, while Thor sits smirking.

They shower and flop into bed and Thor watches a grin spread over his brother's face.

“What?” Thor asks.

“Did you suck me off to shut me up?”

“Yep,” Thor says. “Worked, too.”

“In the short term,” Loki agrees, giggling. “But you just taught me that if I'm bad I'll get a blowjob.”

“Oh fuck me,” Thor groans.

They have a small Christmas at home, just the two of them.

Loki gives Thor a telescope and a rainbow of cashmere sweaters. Thor gives Loki a printout of a studio set up and points to the long narrow room to the right of the stairs that they've never known what to do with.

“Yes or no?” Thor says.

“Yes,” Loki grins.

Thor calls Freyr and picks up the boxes from his garage. He spends the rest of the day assembling Loki's new studio. There's a drafting table, a flat table, a tabletop easel, an adjustable chair, a rolling cart full of drawers, an assortment of lamps, and a huge cabinet. Loki sets up Thor's telescope and after dinner they look at the stars.

They are privately wildly happy. 

But, somehow, it's not enough. Holding hands, kissing, sucking, stroking, fucking, spooning, cuddling - it's all the same: perfect and incomplete. They are close, but they are still bound by the limits of their skin.

Thor wants to slice off a piece of himself and ask Loki to eat it; spill blood and let Loki drink it. To be dissolved, digested, and woven into Loki's cells. To sustain him. And Thor wonders if the concept of vampirism evolved not from fear of the dead, but from love of the living.

But that wouldn't work, Thor realizes. Because the piece would be dead.

Thor wants to put his life into Loki, and to have Loki's life in him.

Pregnancy makes a strange sense to him, and he envies those who can bear children. He asks his mom what it was like and realizes thatwouldn't work either – regardless of the biological issues - because the life you pour into your partner is no longer you or them: it becomes someone else entirely, a tiny stranger kicking and fidgeting in the womb with arms and legs all its own.

Thor feels a bit hopeless.

Intimacy haunts him. The thing is almost ineffable. He knows he and Loki have it. But, again, he finds it hard to pinpoint where he's succeeding and, therefore, where he might be coming up short.

There are the physical domestic intimacies of living together. The way they sit on the couch, always touching each other somehow – a head in a lap, toes tucked under a thigh, legs in a heap on the center cushion. The rhythm of washing and drying the dishes together. The routine of making breakfast and lunch weekday mornings. The body language written on the loads of laundry they take turns doing every week – Thor's sweaty tees smelling strong (and, in Loki's opinion, wonderful) after a hard day at work, stained socks if it rains and gets muddy while they're wearing tennis shoes, slobber snorted from horses' mouths on the fronts of shirts, dust on pant-legs, dry semen on the bedsheets.

There's hair on the sink and in the drain.

The shared tube of toothpaste that makes their kisses taste the same before bed, like they have one mouth.

They know each other's bodies. The way they taste when they're clean or dirty. They way they smell. The temperature of the fingertips and flanks. The foods that disagree with them. The signs that show when they're stressed – the clenched jaw in Loki and the crumpled brow in Thor. The sizes of each other's clothes. The faces they make when they come. How to get each other off fast when they're too tired for more.

They know each other's limits.

Loki will get snappish if you interrupt him too many times when he's reading or painting, and if you try to placate him with kisses he will tell you to fuck right off.

If you wake Thor up early on the weekend for no better reason than wanting his attention he will carry you from the room, lock you out of it, and sleep until three just to spite you.

They're well versed in the social and professional intimacies. They know each other's schedules. Each other's finances - goals of saving money for travel, books, and art supplies in the short term, and for horses, cars, emergencies, retirement, and medical expenses down the road.

Thor feels as though there's something big he's forgetting. Like a name he should know for all the times he's seen its owner's face.

He looks at Loki's paintings. Loki's language.

I could tell him, Thor thinks. Ask him. Maybe he knows the answer.

When they're curled up close in bed that night Thor tries.

“You still awake?” Thor asks.

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Is there.... anything you need... or want... that I'm not giving you?”

“No,” Loki murmurs. “Is there anything I'm not giving you?”

“No,” Thor says, and that hadn't even occurred to him, and now he's even more puzzled.

“What's wrong?” Loki says.

“Not sure,” Thor laughs. “Might actually be nothing. Can't put my finger on it... It just... feels like I should be giving you... more.”

“You give me plenty.”

“If you think of something, tell me,” Thor says.

“I will,” Loki chuckles. “And likewise.”

“I love you,” Thor whispers, hugging Loki tighter.

“Love you too. Quit worrying.”

But Thor does worry.

Still, there's nothing he feels Loki isn't giving him. Nothing Loki feels he isn't receiving.

It's like the universe has failed them.

Like evolution cut a few corners.

They should be able to connect their nervous systems. Know each other's minds. Connect their senses.

And they only have five. That's a paltry sum.

But Thor will have to find a way to make do with what they've got. Feed Loki with sights, sounds, scents, tastes, and touches.

His tired mind soothes itself with Loki's lullaby, Courting Blues, again.

Courting, Thor thinks. We didn't, really, in the traditional sense. We were treading too carefully. No time for romance.

And Thor remembers asking Loki what he wanted when all of this began.

A sexual relationship and a romantic one.

Thor knew enough to know that they were different, and important, but not enough to know exactly how.

His mind tries to tease the threads apart. To sort through which requirements and behaviors belong under the headers sexual, romantic, andfraternal.

He makes lists:

SEXUAL

kissing

hugging

talking, depending on the subject

fucking

massage (should have done this before)

ROMANTIC

kissing

hugging

talking

gifts

surprises

letters

dancing

dates. how the fuck do I take him on dates?

poetry. can't write it to save my life.

art. his world.

FRATERNAL

kissing

hugging

talking

gifts

surprises

letters

dancing

hanging out

watching movies

He finds a lot of overlap.

Romantic is the tricky one. Complicated, vague, and uncharted.

Thor and Steve were young, busy, and inexperienced. Loki's experience consists of Thor.

You can't miss something you've never had.

Thor's stunted sense of romance has been passed on to his brother.

Context seems important, but all of their behavior exists within the context of their lives – their relationships as brothers and lovers, and those two now seem inseparable. 

Thor can groan an I love you when Loki brings him a beer after a long day, and it's largely fraternal.

He can lean in and whisper it as they walk through a grocery store, and it's a bit romantic.

Or he can gasp it while they're writhing in each other's arms, seconds from orgasm and wild with sex, and somehow it's all three.

My brother. My crush. My lover. Thor thinks.

He can't see lines anywhere, just a spectrum: running from fond smiles and pats on the back to mouths full of cock and faces spattered with semen.

And it occurs to Thor that he's fallen for a misdirection all his life. That the most important part of each of those phrases is not the second word, but the first.

My, Thor marvels.

Mine.

He shivers.

So Thor gives up on untying this knot and vows to be more demonstrative, and in different ways.

He starts leaving little love letters around the house. Tucked into Loki's shoe, stuck to his mirror, or held to his windshield by the wiper blade of the car.

He makes more of his weird collaged postcards. Starting from scratch is overwhelming to Thor, but he enjoys taking existing images and words and working them together, nudging them into a story, and feeling them nudge back, demanding little captions and scribbled additions.

Sometimes Thor will say things to Loki as they drift off to sleep, and on those nights Thor will wake a little later – sometimes a matter of minutes, other times closer to an hour – to find Loki kissing him and tugging at him and holding him close, a litany of I love you so muchspilling not-quite-silently from his lips.

Thor dances with Loki in the kitchen on quiet nights. Santo and Johnny's Sleep Walk is a favorite, dreamy and slow.

Sex is a delectable tease. In those precious seconds when their minds are unravelled by pleasure, they forget themselves, and forget that there are borders between their bodies. Afterward they realize they've been tricked, but it felt so real that a seed of doubt is sewn. Thor wonders if that's part of what keeps them coming back to try it again with undiminished enthusiasm.

In the summer, Thor gets an old claw-footed bathtub at a yard sale and he and Volstagg heave it up onto the back porch while Loki is out with Frigga. Thor puts a little pipe under it so that the bathwater can drain out into a rain barrel and they can water their grandmother's flower beds with it.

When Loki gets home from lunch, Thor takes him out back with a blindfold on and unveils the gift.

“Single serving swimming pool,” Thor says, and Loki smiles and hugs him.

On hot days Loki fills the bath with cold water from the hose, drawn from the well, and then soaks in it while he sings along to entire albums as a doomed six pack of beer floats beside him. Thor will often reach in to steal a can and grope his brother while he's at it. And then Thor will protest insincerely when Loki pulls him down into the tub.

Sometimes Thor is inadvertently visually romantic. He often wanders out into the backyard naked on sunny days, putting the wash on the line, watering plants and not wanting to get his clothes wet, or hanging their towels out to dry in the sun. Loki watches from the window, captivated. Something about it looks right to him in a way he can't explain. Thor is too beautiful to be clothed. He should always be naked in the sun.

They curl up on the couch to watch The Royal Tenenbaums on a lazy Saturday night. Thor realizes he has always felt the hottest make-out scene in movie history comes from this film. A brother and sister sharing long-overdue kisses inside a tiny tent set up in a childhood room.

On his lunch break the following Monday, Thor swings by a fabric store and a Home Depot, and when he gets home that night he turns his bed into a tent.

After that Loki always wants to sleep in Thor's room - in their world within a world for their love within a love.

Something about the soft, quiet, cozy space sets Loki at ease and thaws the last of his inhibitions.

“I want to eat you out,” Loki whispers, while Thor mouths his neck and palms his cock.

Thor nods and grapples for the lube. They resume their kisses until their patience crumbles. Loki rolls them over and lays his brother on his back before kissing a slow path down Thor's chest and belly and lingering at his cock.

Thor is leaking more heavily than he normally would be.

Loki realizes that his words have had quite an effect. He smiles into the joint of Thor's thigh.

The light from the room filters through the fabric of their little fortress and softens all their edges. It gets harder to see the details of Thor's body the lower Loki goes, so he stops relying on sight. He can smell the soap from their shared shower, its perfume lingering on Thor's skin. The salt of sweat from the time they've spent rolling around under the sheets. The musk of sex, stronger as Loki nips his way under Thor's balls and over his taint.

Thor's legs are twitching and flexing in a way Loki has never felt before, and he can hear Thor's breaths breaking and quickening. Thor's fur brushes Loki's lips, soft and yielding, promising to reveal a secret like curtains at a theater.

When Loki's lips connect with skin, Thor gasps and his flesh briefly retreats, but it's back so swiftly Loki doesn't even have time to laugh. He kisses it again and hears a quiet moan. Teases it with a wet lingering press of his lips and Thor jerks. Drags his tongue over Thor's opening and tastes copper while Thor swears softly above him. Loki laps at it and nips it and nuzzles and flicks it.

He hears the little clicks of the lube snapping open and shut and then Thor's fist is before Loki's eyes, sliding over his cock with white knuckles.

Loki laves Thor's hole while his own cock drips onto the sheets. The wet sounds of Thor's hand working his prick mingle with the even wetter sounds of Loki's mouth as he eats Thor's ass.

Thor comes with a sob and lies panting while Loki struggles up to kneel between his brother's parted thighs. Loki fumbles for the lube and then slicks up his own neglected erection, twisting and squeezing it and thumbing the head.

They both love to watch this. To see wet creamy sex pour out of the tip of a prick.

Thor reaches to his left and pulls the wall of the tent aside to let in more light, then sits up for a better view.

The way the slit in the crown of a cock opens as the come pulses out is always different. The pattern is never predictable. They've checked, and they've earned themselves an eyeful on several occasions. To see this tiny, delicate, sensitive bit of flesh stretched wide around a stream of semen is one of the most erotic things they can think of.

Thor catches Loki's come in his mouth like he's snapping up popcorn that's being tossed at him and they both end up giggling like idiots.

They scrub themselves clean in the bathroom and retreat to their sleep-fort once more. Thor likes that the darkness of the tent lets Loki sleep later on weekends. The light used to wake him. He looks better rested now. The shadows under his eyes stay away longer. They used to be back by Tuesday, but now it's not until Friday that Loki really looks weary, and then the weekend arrives to rescue him.

Loki keeps Thor's little love letters in a safe. They're not vague enough that they could be explained away as mere affection – especially not as a collection.

Three years into their affair, Thor comes home and finds Loki sitting on the floor in his room, safe open, contents blanketing his lap, stuttering out wet breaths and leaking hopeless tears.

“Are you hurt?” Thor breathes, and Loki shakes his head no.

“Is Mom okay?” Thor asks.

Loki nods.

“What happened?” Thor asks, kneeling beside his brother and rubbing the small of his back.

It's almost a minute before Loki can manage a sentence that isn't unintelligibly fractured.

“I hate keeping these locked up like this. Like I'm ashamed of them. Because I'm not. I hate hiding you. No one is ever going to see these,” Loki sobs, tracing Thor's letters with tapered fingers. “There's no one we can leave them to. When we die they'll just be thrown away. Like we're trash. Like we never existed and this was nothing exceptional. No one will ever see the best of us.”

“I have,” Thor tells him. “I know.”

“I want the whole fucking universe to know. And care. And remember.”

And now Thor is sobbing too, because he feels the same way.

So Thor starts an anonymous blog and he and Loki put their correspondence up there for the world to see.

There are a few that are too personal or specific, so they keep them set to private.

They collaborate on a small group of cards about their relationship and mail the results to Postsecret, after which some of the images end up in a book that sits on shelves and coffee tables in homes around the world.

They exchange copies for their birthday, each of them writing only the word Yours on the inner cover.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I can't disable commenting. If I could, I would. Please pretend that I have. Please don't repost or distribute my writing.


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